


Seeing Your Ghosts

by dulcedinem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Auror Pansy Parkinson, Aurors, Battle of Hogwarts, Childhood Trauma, DMLE | Department of Magical Law Enforcement (Harry Potter), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Flashbacks, HP femslash, Hate to Love, Head Auror Harry Potter, M/M, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Memories, Pansmione - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Percy is a little shit as per usual, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Trauma, V official Hermione, With Hogwarts flashbacks, dransy, new elf!!!, sorry i like writing angst so there's lots of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-11-08 04:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulcedinem/pseuds/dulcedinem
Summary: After the war, Pansy left Britain behind for almost a decade. When she returns, it's not on her own terms. And things are not going well.





	1. Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hello! Hope you enjoy. Epilogue fully ignored here. Flashbacks ensue.

London, 2007

Pansy groaned against his throat, her breath hot against Draco’s skin, beads of sweat lining the cords of his neck. She lingered for another second, slowing her breathing down, steadying her gaze. 

“Do you have to go? It can’t take you that long to floo in.” He huffed. Draco’s brows knit together, looking rather serious despite his lack of clothes.

“Draco,” Pansy warned, her palms flush against his chest, gently pushing him away. “This is my first day, I have to at least get there a little early.” She sighed, shaking her head slightly. Her blunt bob caught the hollows of her collarbones, and she reached a hand up absentmindedly to brush it back. Already she could feel the knot of anxiety—anticipation—coiling in her belly. It had taken her years to reach a position like this, and she wasn’t about it waste it on another morning go with Malfoy. She had been here, what, almost four months already with no real prospects until now? After years spent in New York, securing a staff position as MACUSA, coming home had been jarring. Adjusting to being back in British wizarding society had been a bit like reacquainting herself with a phantom limb she had suddenly rediscovered after the feeling being absent for years. 

Draco rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead, grey eyes flickering towards her. “And you still won’t tell me who’s vault you supplied to get into the Ministry? Remind me what you’re doing there exactly?” He smirked, just short of waggling his eyebrows.

Pansy’s lip quirked, her eyes flashing upwards. “Merlin, your faith in me is endearing. Remind me why I put up with you again? The sex is mediocre at best, I suppose your arse is decent looking, but the food here-” Cut off by Draco’s swift pull on her waist, heaving her back onto the bed, Pansy let out a quick squeal. She struggled to right herself; Draco was faster though, his teeth already pulling hungrily at her bottom lip. “Malfoy, I swear!” She kneed him lightly into the side of his thigh, just enough to loosen his grip. Pansy slipped from his grasp, frustrated, pointedly ignoring his lazy grin. “I’m working with the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, security-based.” 

“Gracious, you’re a glorified bodyguard.” He barked, suppressing a laugh before softening his gaze, “You know I’m rooting for you though, Pans.” Draco pushed himself upon his elbows, watching her step back, quickly gathering clothes from the ground. She slipped on her bra noiselessly, latching it in the back, stepped into a fitted black skirt, tucked in a tailored blouse. Picking up her wand holster, she dragged it up her thigh out of sight, easing her wand into it before glancing around for her shoes. Draco stood as she finished pulling on her work heels, watching her intently. 

Pansy shot him a warning glance, digging her hand into her pocket. Pulling out a short silver chain affixed with a tiny green gem, she offered her palm to him. “Help me with this, will you?” Draco obliged, coming to stand behind her. His fingers ghosted her neck as he closed the latch, placing a chaste kiss against her shoulder. Pansy watched as his blonde strands dipped into her peripheral, smiling despite herself. Ever since she had returned to London months ago, Draco had been quick to allow her to stay with him at the Manor. It had been easy, falling back into a routine with her old friend, even picking up their habit of sleeping together that they had started sometime back in fifth year. Draco hadn’t rushed her to move out, and it felt comfortable staying with him, almost like home. Though she had relished in the freedom she found living in New York, the anonymity it had granted her, allowing her to work on her career, she had missed London. Her friends, the comfortability of having grown up here, the feeling of belonging that took her breath away when she had left after the war. The loss of home had been sharp and piercing, though it had dulled over the years into an ache she had managed by throwing herself into her training. 

“Thanks, love.” Pansy turned, gently squeezing Draco’s forearm, affection for him bubbling in her throat. Draco blushed, hand coming down to swat her arse playfully, pushing her towards the stairs.

“Alright, alright, enough. Go before you’re late and blame this on me later.” He rolled his eyes, putting on an air of indifference, waving at her to leave. “Oh, and tell Zabini I expect to see him Friday.”

Pansy nodded, her hand already closing over the handle of her thin leather work bag. She hurried down the stairs towards the floo near the main entrance, deftly applying a layer of deep red lipstick with her free hand, lips rolling together. She tried to collect herself before throwing the powder into the hearth, her nerves hopelessly jumpy. 

As expected, Blaise was waiting for her in the Ministry’s atrium. She strode towards him, suppressing a grin as she took in his imposing frame, back turned. His hair was cropped close to his head, strong chin jutting from his profile, tanned skin glowing in the atrium’s subdued lighting. He turned as she approached, eyes appraising. “Pansy, you’re looking well, and almost on time.” Pansy snorted quietly, tempted to rib him. “Lovely to see you as always, Zabini.” 

“Anyways, I’ll fill you in and get you settled this morning.” He continued, gesturing for her to follow. She kept pace as they winded down another hallway, puffing but thankful they hadn’t had to take the lift, not sure she could stomach it just then. Finally, he stopped in front of an office door, turning a wary gaze to her. “There has also been a few…rearrangements with your position here. It happened very recently,” he paused, one hand held up to halt her inevitable question, “but your role hasn’t necessarily changed.” Sighing, Pansy nodded, taking in the long hallway they were in and Blaise’s out of character nervousness. She wondered if he was merely reflecting her own, or if she had missed something. 

“Blaise, I appreciate your assistance in even getting me in the door here, so really, as long as the job description hasn’t changed, I think I can handle myself.” Folding her arms carefully, she dropped her hip against the doorframe, nodding inside. “Are we going in? Or is there more I should know?”

Rubbing one hand to his eyes, Blaise tipped his head. “Well, like I noted, some changes have recently taken place. Abbott took ill last week, and they’ve had to find a replacement for him. So you’re still working for the Undersecretary, but it won’t be Abbott. His replacement will fill you in on your role though, go over your contract, the like. But things have been hectic for Minister Shacklebolt ever since so keep your head down and do what the Undersecretary needs. They’ll have other staff help settle you in but I’ve noted a…heightened level of stress…around,” Blaise waived his hand, Pansy noticing for the first time that he had been chewing on the inside of his cheek. “What I’m trying to get across is that the next few weeks will be busy, and not necessarily indicative of what usually goes on around here. I’ll just be down the hall though, so if you need, come find me. Shacklebolt has me on a fairly tight leash these days, with Robards trail coming up and all.” Pausing, he exhaled heavily, finally glancing down at Pansy, who was caught between amusement at Blaise’s rambling and mild concern. It wasn’t like Blaise to get flustered, eschewing his calm exterior. Pansy mentally noted to follow up with him later on. 

“Alright then, Zabini. Everyone’s off their trolley this week, I get it.” Pansy shifted, watching him closely. She felt her hair scratch lightly at the back of her neck and brushed a hand through it quickly, pulling away a few short dark strands between her fingers. 

Blaise gave her a curt nod, his disinterested mask returning. His hand hovered above the door, ready to knock, before he sent her another glance. “Oh, and you have two seconds to vanish that gum.” Lip raising in a half grin, his fist rapped lightly on the wooden frame. Pansy allowed herself a quick laugh, popped it in defiance, and vanished her gum with a flick. She straightened herself behind Blaise as he pushed open the door a few inches, his smooth voice calling out. “Undersecretary?” She heard a soft reply, waited for Blaise to push the door further.

“Undersecretary, this is Pansy, she’ll be working as your Auror assistant. She comes from MACUSA, highly recommended by the Auror Commissioner himself.” Blaise stepped inside, smoothing his robes, voice carefully light. Pansy smiled easily, following him through the door, eyes taking in the rather large but chaotic-looking office they had entered. She noted the stacks of paper on the desk, precariously piled on top of each other haphazardly, spelled not to tip over. Blinking at the lack of light in the room, it took her eyes a second to adjust. 

“Parkinson.” She heard, the voice heavy with a sign. Her gaze followed the sound, locking eyes seconds later with the new Undersecretary.

“Granger?” Pansy breathed, her voice sounding loud to her own ears, lilting with confusion. She held her gaze for another second before Blaise’s insistent cough, clearing the buzzing that had started low but insistent in her head.

“Well, Pansy, I’ll leave you to it. As I said, Undersecretary, Pansy has been assigned to work closely with you over the next few months, both in an investigative and security sense. I’d stay for more introductions, but I really must…” He trailed off, already half out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Pansy inhaled sharply, watching him leave, fighting the urge to ask him to stay.

“Parkinson, sit.” Pansy’s eyes darted back to Hermione at her insistence, who hadn’t left her spot standing in the corner. They were both staring at each other then, Hermione’s gaze wary. Pansy felt her pulse quicken, at once furious with Blaise for not warning her about Granger, another part of her curious to see the witch she hadn’t laid eyes on for almost a decade. 

Pansy took her in, noted the dark plait that fell past her shoulders. The side of her face was illuminated by a high window in the corner, a stray of natural light catching the specs of dust that hovered lazily in the air. Pansy’s gaze flitted over the stray curls that had escaped from Hermione’s braid, framing her face gently. She had shallow bags under her eyes, suggestive of long days, though her cheeks kept a soft flush. She looked, as Blaise had warned, rather worn, holding her body rigidly, as if she hadn’t let herself exhale in many days. Her scar was there though, barely visible, hidden behind the start of her robes. Pansy’s eyes latched onto it, noted it was a silvery white now, no longer the thin stripe of scarlet it had been before. 

“I didn’t know you were being assigned to me.” Hermione sighed, breaking their gaze. Pansy glimpsed the quill she had tucked behind her ear, the small smear of ink on the side of her nose. She had a file open in her hands, fingers worrying the edge of a page. 

Clearing her throat cautiously, Pansy finally sat at the chair Hermione had gestured to in front of her desk. “I thought I was assigned to Undersecretary Abbott, I didn’t realize…That is, Zabini has just informed me of your recent appointment.” She hesitated, unsure of how she was being received, swallowing down her apprehension. 

“Yes, well, a surprise for both of us then.” Hermione murmured, gaze meeting Pansy’s again, more firm this time. Pansy fought the urge to fidget under her watch, feeling Hermione’s eyes sweep over her, scrutinizing. She waited for Hermione to react, perhaps to show her the door, laugh even, but felt unprepared for her resigned sigh. “You worked for the Commissioner then, Tolliver?” 

Pansy nodded, “Yes, for three years. I received my Auror training at MACUSA. I worked with Commissioner Tolliver for the past three years.” Pansy kept her voice steady, polite.

“And you were there how long?” Hermione pulled the quill from her ear, tapped it against her file, looking impatient, bored. Pansy forced down the desire to scoff, vaguely irritated by Hermione’s sudden posturing. She was differently—vastly—from the eighteen-year-old Pansy had last seen. Surer of herself, certainly, holding herself with an air of…Pansy couldn’t put her finger on it; pride, perhaps? There was little of the wild-eyed girl Pansy had seen just after the war, a woman filled with the enormity of her losses and unbelieving in her victories, anxious too, as if those who remained could be snatched out from under her nose if she glanced away for even a second. And some had been, Pansy supposed. She wondered, silently, if Hermione’s grief had dulled the way hers had over the years. The knife in her gut twisted less and less with the years, though still ever-present. Pansy had lost her parents in the war, her father a Death Eater, her mother a casualty, herself caught between her own inability to choose a side. The weight of the past ebbed at the back of her mind, though Pansy caught herself, kept her gaze steady. 

“Almost nine years, Undersecretary.”

“Just after the war then, how convenient.” Hermione’s lips quirked back into a smile, an eyebrow raised slightly. “And Granger is fine, please. If we’re to be working together.” She ended her sentence with a questioning tone. Pansy felt heat spread across her chest, pink blooming at the base of her neck. 

Pansy gritted her teeth, forcing herself to meet her gaze, noting the hardness in Hermione’s eyes, glowering pools of deep brown. “We all had to make choices, Granger.” 

“Indeed, we did.” Hermione’s voice, no more than a whisper, finished with another sigh. Resigned, she bristled past where Pansy sat, dropping the file on the desk as she went. She moved towards an adjoining door in her office, glancing over her shoulder. “Well, no need to dwell on bygones at this point, I’m sure if you’ve made it through the interview process, you’re at least half decent. I’d love to catch up, but I have a rather pressing deadline approaching. I’ll have my assistant fill you in. Percy!” Hermione tapped the door, her robes falling open, revealing a pair of fitted beige trousers, a soft white blouse. Pansy noted the outfit with interest, caught sight of the base of her throat past the robes. Her thoughts were disturbed as she watched a pale, freckled face pop into sight beyond Hermione, a mop of smartly cut red hair. Stifling a groan, Pansy stood.

“Mr. Weasley.” She closed the steps between them, her hand offered. 

Percy’s eyes widened, landing on Pansy. “Merlin, Parkinson? Pansy Parkinson? I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here. Though I’d heard you have been doing quite well for yourself under Tolliver.” He smirked, regarding her with the same wary hardness that Hermione had, though took the hand she had offered. 

“Keeping tabs on me, Percy?” Pansy purred, returning his questioning glare. 

“Merely keeping my ears open…Pansy.” Percy flicked his tongue over his teeth, hiding a sneer. But he widened his door for her, expecting her to follow. “The Undersecretary is busy, as you’ve noticed, so I suppose you’re my task for the time being.” 

“Percy, really, you don’t have to call me that.” Hermione grumbled, back already turned. Pansy realized there was a familiarity between the two of them, guessing Percy had likely moved up positions with Hermione. 

“Really, Hermione, it’s for her sake, though you deserve the respect of the title.” He clicked his tongue reproachfully, though shot the back of Hermione’s head a warm look. Before ushering Pansy inside his office, he waved his wand silently until a lamp on Hermione’s desk flamed, casting her office in soft shadows.

“Parkinson, how much did Zabini fill you in on what’s been going on at the Ministry?” Percy lowered himself into his chair, pushing the pads of his fingers together gently, tenting his hands. 

“Very little.” Pansy tsked, looking down at her own fingers, the soft half-moons of her nails glinting with the polish she had applied earlier in the week, feigning disinterest. Working with Granger, perhaps, she could stomach. A Weasley was another matter, the worst of them at that. She recognized instant guilt at leaving her position in New York flare in her stomach, feeling utterly daft for thinking that in returning, all these years later, things might have been different for her. 

“Shocking. Well.” Percy crossed his arms, irritated. He, too, had changed over the years. His hairline was an inch further back than she remembered, though he had maintained his ability to look down his rather long nose at her. His robes appeared firmly pressed, stiff, as if they had been charmed to never wrinkle. “As you’ve likely heard, Robards’ trial is next week.” He paused, waiting for Pansy’s nod. “It’s a rather high-profile case, and we’ve noticed, ah, perhaps heightened threats is the right word, here at the Ministry.” His voice lowered now, eyes darting towards the door, cautious. “Abbott fell ill, though not of old age. There are talks of a poisoning, though the DMLE won’t release the cause, officially. You can imagine, then, that our Aurors are working overtime, and as Head Auror Potter has only recently been promoted, it’s been, well, ah, stressful.” His hands splayed on the desk then, looking a bit perturbed, flustered at his own admittance that things had been rather bleak at the Ministry as of late. Pansy merely nodded again, waiting for him to carry on.

“You’ve been brought on to work closely with the Undersecretary. She needs, first and foremost, your protection. But I see here,” he glanced down at the Pansy’s file that had materialised in front of them, pointing at something Pansy couldn’t see, “that you worked for a few years in MACUSA’s investigative department, before working directly with Commissioner Tolliver. The Undersecretary’s role in the next week is demanding. She’s helping the Minister prepare for the trial, both of them will be giving testimony against Robards, and there’s hope that this might lead to the arrest of further Death Eaters who have evaded the Ministry all these years. The Undersecretary could use your eyes on the case and her notes for the trial, and undoubtedly with what comes after this. You’ll be answering exclusively to her, though of course, you and I will unfort—often—cross paths.” Percy caught himself, easing his lips back into what he likely thought of as an easy smile, though it appeared more of a grimace. 

Pansy, dragging her eyes from the ceiling, forced a grin at him. “Doesn’t bother me a lick, Perce.” She watched his smile catch, little wrinkles forming in his smile lines. She wondered which of them would crack first, enjoying setting him on edge regardless. He huffed, pointing at his door expectedly. “Yes, certainly. You’ll be stationed in the Undersecretary’s office, by the way. I’m sure she’s transfigured you a desk already. Off you go.” He dismissed her readily, refusing to look up from the file in front of him. 

\- + -

Percy was right, Hermione had transfigured a corner desk for Pansy, the large office easily accommodating the extra workspace. She found herself seated there, warily, after her brusque introduction with Percy. Her thin briefcase laid flat against the rich polished wood, looking inconsequential. Hermione, seemingly as engrossed with her files as Percy had been, hadn’t acknowledged Pansy when she re-entered her office. Pansy crossed her legs, uncrossed them, glancing from her view of Hermione’s head of curls bent over her papers to the lining of books on the walls, the office overflowing with them. This was all a bit strange for her, this waiting about. Under Tolliver, her days had been gruelling, fast-paced, often in the field one day and piled under paperwork the next. It was what she had loved, the exhausting nature of it all. She loved falling into bed in the early hours of the morning, too tired to have unsettling dreams; she loved waking early, her body going through the motions, trained and disciplined. Waiting now for Hermione’s cues felt like being refused an itch, wanting to move, to do something, finding herself stilled. Finally, what seemed like an eternity later, Hermione glanced up.

“Parkinson, over here, will you? Take a look at his.” She motioned to the paper in her hand, waiting for Pansy to approach. Pansy obliged, the short click of her heels against the black tile, the sound muffled by the mountain of books. She leaned over Hermione’s desk, careful to avoid contact, eyes straining to see the paper. Hermione had a number of papers strewn in front of her, compounded by memos buzzing feet above her head now. Pansy pursed her lips, taking in what appeared to be transcripts of Robards’ questioning by the Aurors upon capture. Scanning it quickly, her eyes caught where the Aurors had likely slipped him Veritaserum by force, the transcript of his words suddenly increasingly. She shook her head mutely, irked at how quickly they had resorted to potions. 

“Displeased with their tactics, Parkinson?” Hermione titled her head up towards Pansy, her face almost smug. “Not how they do things in New York?”

“Just seems like they rushed into it, perhaps.” Pansy muttered, sliding her gaze from the paper towards Hermione, unsettled by how closely she was regarding her. 

“And this, Parkinson?” Hermione kept her gaze on Pansy’s face, her voice a whisper, intent, but her hand lowered to Pansy’s thigh, catching the beginning of her holster hidden just under her skirt. “Is this how they do things in New York? Hiding your wand under holsters?” Pansy’s eyes widened, darting down to Hermione’s hand, which fell back to her lap after grazing Pansy’s thighs. Her touch felt like a ghost, haunting. Pansy stopped herself from shuddering, unsure if she had imagined it. She jerked herself back though, away from Hermione’s desk, a safe distance.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Granger.” Her voice came out soft, reedy and high. Her eyes found Percy’s door, nervous he might walk in at any moment, see her like this, caught off guard. She barely noticed Hermione silently stand, closing the space between them. Barely noticed it until her back bumped against a shelf of books. Until she felt their old, soft spines press into her skin, smelt the faint mold coming from their pages. Hermione was in front of her then. She stood a few inches above Pansy, almost the same height, though her face was imposing. Pansy stilled her breath, waited. Felt Hermione’s soft breath on her face.

“You.” Hermione hissed, her voice still low but accusatory—twisted with pain. Pansy half expected to feel a finger jab into her shoulder, was surprised when it didn’t. But Hermione’s look was undeniable, and Pansy felt herself reeling from the conflicting emotions reflected back at her. Pain, undoubtedly; anger too, and a wash of vulnerability before Hermione hardened her gaze. Pansy opened her lips to reply, but found her mouth dry, her throat emitting a low whine. Hermione’s nose brushed against hers, too close. After a beat, Hermione pulled back, exhaled loudly. Turning, she shook her head roughly. 

“You.” Hermione repeated, barely glancing over her shoulder at Pansy. It came out with less vitriol but soaked in something else now. Something that sent rising panic through Pansy’s blood. Hermione’s shoulders were hunched inwards, protective. Hermione’s words tumbled out then, fast but punctuated with an air of disbelief. “You bloody left, Parkinson. You left. You told me you couldn’t bear to stay here, with me, and now this? I haven’t seen you, haven’t even bloody heard from you in almost a decade, and you stroll into my office just like this?” Hermione laughed, a raw noise that caught her in throat. “Of all the fucking days, now? And you’re telling me you didn’t even know you’d be working for me? Acting like this is all some odd series of events? Like we’re just supposed to be colleagues now, you sitting in a bloody desk across from me? Supposed to be protecting me?” Her tone was low still, gravelly, but filled with venom. Pansy felt it seep into her skin, closing her eyes at Hermione’s accusations. She didn’t, she hadn’t, she couldn’t have.

“Hermione, I-” Pansy choked, holding herself up. Felt a hot stinging behind her eyes, refusing to blink, to give in to the oncoming well. 

“No, no no. You don’t get to do this, Pansy. You-,” Hermione broke, a wild laugh escaping her lips, masking a sob. She shook her head again, firmly. Her curls rustled against her cheek before she angrily pushed them behind her ears. “You need to leave.” Pansy regarded her quietly, mouth firmly shut. She took in Hermione’s deadly calm after she practically spat her name at her. Hermione’s fists were clenched tightly at her sides, still except for a quiver Pansy caught run along her lip. Pansy turned on her heel, at her desk in seconds. She grasped at her case, yanked down at her skirt where it had hitched on her holster, flung open Hermione’s door, not bothering to shut it behind her. Marching purposefully, she had to stop herself from racing down the hallway, hot tears threatening to push past her lids. She bit down onto her tongue to stop herself, tasting metal, until she reached the atrium. Almost blind now, she threw the floo powder into the first fireplace she stumbled into, a moan bubbling from her throat just as her body spun out of focus.

\- + -

Pansy landed back at the Manor with a thud, wrists protesting under the sudden weight of holding up her shaking form from the ground. She felt untethered as she pushed herself up, skirt peppered with dust from the hearth. She tried to slow her breathing, feeling it snag in her throat. Her skin felt awash with the heat from the exchange, cold though she felt little drops of sweat forming against the nape of her neck, the dip of her lower back. Shivering, she hurried to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Pansy saw the glow coming from under Draco’s closed office door as she passed, doing her best to tread quietly, unsure if her ragged breathing was audible through the dense wood. When she reached her own rooms down the corridor, hands dragging lightly against the pale cream wallpaper, she stumbled into it. She could feel it then, dread quelling deep within her, bile threatening to climb her throat. She moved quickly, retching into the bin closest to the door, biting back a groan. 

“Pans?” The voice sounded muffled, far away. 

“Fine! I’m fine, Draco, just a bit ill!” She returned his call, hoping to stave off any questions. Unfortunately, Draco was already past the door of his office, striding quickly towards her room. He was wearing his Muggle business attire, though his sleeves were pushed up his forearms, two collar buttons undone casually. Pansy heard his incoming footsteps muted through his leather shoes, moving quietly against the polished wood of the floors. 

“Merlin, Pansy, you look like you’ve just been fished from the Great Lake.” He surmised, eyes taking in her rumpled clothes, the sweat she was sure was now visible in places through her blouse. 

She laughed, the noise sounding garbled, as she slumped onto her bed. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, ignoring the red lipstick that smeared onto her skin. “Draco… Blaise didn’t tell me. I saw her—at the Ministry—I’m supposed to be working for her.” Pansy popped off her heels quickly, drawing her knees to her chin. Draco’s brow furrowed, and she watched as it clicked into place for him.

“Granger, you mean? You saw Granger? Pans, surely you realized you might run into her at the Ministry—” confusion alight on his features. 

“No, you don’t understand,” she seethed, fingers rubbing at her nose. “She’s the new _Undersecretary_, she’s replaced Abbott. I’m working _for_ her. And Blaise, that bloody bastard, practically offered me up to her as a sacrifice, didn’t even warn me on the way over. Didn’t even send a bloody owl!” Her hands were waiving in the air now, wild.

“Oh. Oh, I see. Pansy…what happened between the two of you, that was…Merlin, years ago.” Draco moved to sit beside her, hand tentative on her back. 

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me.” Pansy breathed, eyes bolted to the floor. She felt unable to meet Draco’s gaze, not wanting to see the concern written there, the pity. “I thought…the way she accused me of leaving, like she never understood why I had to. I even thought, for a second, Merlin, that she was going to kiss me, but it was rage, Draco.” She chuckled nervously, feeling foolish and deserving of her humiliation at the same time. “I don’t think, since I left, she ever forgave me.” Tears, hot and demanding, dripped from her chin. Draco made a small noise in his throat, patted her back, at a loss. Pansy slipped her wand from its holster, about to spell the blinds closed across her bay windows. She noticed it then, a small barn owl waiting impatiently on the ledge, a letter between its beak. 

“Looks like Percy Weasley a bit, doesn’t it?” Pansy nudged Draco, shifting his gaze to the window. “Did I mention Percy _fucking _Weasley was there, working for her too?” Draco made a soft hmm, approaching the window. 

“Yes, you two always did have a bit of dislike for one another, I remember.” Pushing the window up with one hand, Draco reached through and gently plucked the letter from the owl. “Did you want me to read it or were you going to?”

“You read it, unless it’s about today, then don’t read it.” Pansy groaned, letting herself fall back onto the bed with a small exhale. Her hair fanned around her in a triangle, sticking to the back of her neck. 

“It’s from Zabi-” Draco unsealed it with a finger, noting the signature.

“Don’t read it! Gods, I don’t want to know what--”

“He says he caught sight of you floo’ing out of the Ministry, and Percy filled him in that you had to leave suddenly, no reason given. Something about being sorry for not warning you sooner, something something not angry just disappointed, etcetera, but will you meet him at the Three Broomsticks at 7?” Draco pushed past her objections, eyes scanning through the letter quickly. 

Pansy turned an eye on him, neck craning up to watch him. “Would you go with me? Are you even allowed, after Madam Rosmerta…”

Draco waved his hand in frustration, cutting her off. “Yes, yes, I’ll go. I worked things out with her a few years back. I’m certainly not a regular patron, but it’s obvious from Zabini’s letter he wants me there also.” 

Pansy chuckled, dropping her head back. “Always sure to not miss out on the gossip, right Draco? Coming to support me or watch me squirm?” 

“The latter.” Draco breathed, having moved to hover above her on the bed, one foot on the floor, the other knee propped against the edge of the mattress, palms flat and framing her shoulders. Pansy’s breath caught, eyes wide as he smiled down at her. A vision, Pansy thought. The light framed the back of his hair, caught its edges, glowed. 

“And will you lend a bit of support now?” Pansy huffed, caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She reached a hand out to him and laced it around his neck. Rolling his eyes, Draco pushed off the bed, letting her hand fall back. “As much as I’d love to, Pans, some of us do have to actually work today. We don’t all get the dramatic luxury of storming out.” 

“Alright, a little too soon, but sure.” She let her hands settle onto her stomach and threaded her fingers together. “Tosser.” She grumbled, knowing her cheeks would have that revealing flush, betraying her as they often did. Draco made a noncommittal noise before letting himself out of her room, closing the door behind him with a click. He endlessly frustrated her; the line they walked between friends and something else, the razor’s edge Draco himself balanced on, one moment soft and kind, the other sharp and a little cruel. She knew, based upon the feeling that would sometimes camp out in the back of her thoughts, that it was perhaps time to find her own flat. But glancing out her windows again, onto the back gardens of the Manor, she felt her heart twist painfully. Mist had descended upon the top leaves of the large oaks lining the main path, lining the branches like thick gauze. The little trimmed hedges that seemed to stretch for miles had become a familiar sight in the past months, the gardens a soothing salve to the blister that leaving New York had been. She had spent hours, when she first arrived, sitting quietly among the shaded delphiniums, gently tending to new spring blooms. Veter, Draco’s house-elf, had grumbled his protests when she tried to help, eventually caving when she nearly pleaded with him. He still muttered obscenities when he caught her pluck a white geranium or two from a bush, and she did notice how he sometimes checked up on her gardening duties after she had finished them. He had, however, begun to point out the height of the hollyhocks to her, and managed a funny little smile when she asked him about how the lavender was coming along. After asking Draco about the gardens, he admitted that Narcissa had breathed new life into them after they received the Manor back from the Ministry. It had been seized during the war, held, searched, until it was finally turned back over to Narcissa and Draco, Lucius already a permanent fixture at Azkaban at that time. He remained there, Pansy surmised, all these years later. Draco had mentioned his mother rarely came to the Manor now. She spent her days in France at one of their other properties, and Pansy could think of a hundred reasons why she’d stay away, why the memories had overtaken her. Forced her out of her home. Pansy had learned quickly not to ask Draco about his parents, an uneasy truce maintained between them where they rarely talked of the past. But the idea of leaving here too, after finally settling back in, felt like another loss she wasn’t prepared to make just yet. 

“Is Miss Parkinson needing anything?” Pansy heard a small pop in the corner of her room, shaking her out of the lull she had sank into. 

“Oh, Veter, hi. Actually, tea would be lovely. Jasmine, please.” She sat up, slightly embarrassed at her current state. She took in the sight of him, his little gnarled hands snapping before a saucer appeared in his grasp. He rustled over to her bedside, placing the tea on her nightstand. His eyes peered at her still, unmoving even after she gingerly took the cup into her hands. It had just a dash of milk in it, leaving the surface opaque. His large ears waggled in disapproval, flattening his neatly ironed cloth against his small frame. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again. “And, perhaps a bath, Miss?” At that, he disappeared with a dull pop, and Pansy scoffed at his boldness and his ability to boss her around. Affection welling at her throat and tea in hand, she padded towards the bathroom. She cringed at the sight of herself. It had been a while since she had felt this…uneasy, after getting particularly good at forcing down uncomfortable emotions that threatened to bubble over. Her nearly black hair was ruffled on one side, lipstick still streaking part of her cheek. Though the sweat had dried on her lower back and at the nape of her neck, it had made her blouse stick to her skin at random. Turning away from the mirror with a dissatisfied grunt, she turned the taps to the bath on and waited. Moments later, after sinking deliciously into the bath, steam clouding her face, she felt the weight of the day buoyed by the water. 

“Three Broomsticks then,” she sighed to the ceiling, having dropped her head back against the tile. “Draco. Blaise. 7pm, fine.”


	2. Salt

Pansy smiled absently at something Draco said, her hand tucked gently under his arm. She could see the Three Broomsticks looming in the distance. It had been so long, but its mismatched windows were a comforting view. If she allowed herself to admit it, the sight even made her feel a little giddy. The familiar structures of Hogsmeade framed the dimly lit street and threw out long shadows. Though she had been to the Leaky a few times since returning to London, she hadn’t ventured this far out of London. “Feels cold for early September, doesn’t it?” She surmised, glancing up at Draco. He nodded, a hand snaking around her waist, pulling her tight to his side as they approached. The Three Broomsticks was just as she remembered it from her days as a student; bustling, patrons weaving around the large wooden beams, large glass mugs of butterbeer spilling onto the floor as customers tried to carry too many mugs from the bar. The air was blanketed with smoke, and she coughed as Draco pushed open the heavy front door. Taking a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim, she spotted Blaise and Theo already seated at a round table near a back corner.

“Theo, I didn’t know you were coming.” Pansy moved around Blaise to hug her friend, surprised but relieved to see him. Amongst her group of old friends, she had kept up contact with him the most during her absence. She squeezed his lanky frame close to her, feeling the outline of his spine against her palm. Stepping back, he grinned at her, light brown hair falling over an eye when he tilted his head.

“Good to see you, little Pans. Blaise told me he was seeing you tonight, and I couldn’t resist crashing the party. It has been _days_ since you saw me last. Err, if this is a party, that is. Celebration of your first day at the Ministry?” He looked sheepish, eyes darting from Pansy to Blaise. Pansy shot a glare at Blaise and stepped back into Theo’s embrace. She fit herself under his arm, letting it drape across her shoulders.

“T, I honestly would rather talk about your latest potions experiment than talk about my day. Can we not?” Theo took in her pleading gaze and patted her shoulder comfortingly. 

“Not to worry, little P, you won’t hear another word about it from me.” Theo mimed zipping his lips closed, tossing the imaginary key over his shoulder. 

“Can I get you a drink though? Butterbeer? Something stronger?”

“Something stronger, please. That red rum if they still have it!” Pansy called over her shoulder to Theo’s already retreating back, turning back to Blaise and Draco.

“Pansy…” Blaise’s voice was low, edged with both remorseful and reproachful at the same time. She took in the sight of him before answering, noting how both he and Draco were dressed – all tailored trousers, clean lines. Of the four of them, she had always felt like Theo and her were more kindred spirits, both showing up in jeans and docs. She scuffed the rubber sole of her shoe against the wooden floorboards before inhaling and steeling herself against Blaise’s oncoming lecture.

“Blaise, I appreciate whatever you’re about to say, but know I’ve already thought it, so you don’t have to. I know I shouldn’t have left, but I don’t think you really understood what I was walking into.” She paused, waiting for his noise of protest to stop. “I fully intend to march back into the Ministry tomorrow and demand my job back—or, that I’m still allowed to work there, or…that I’m not fired? Honestly, I don’t know what my status is at this point. But I’m going back.” She squared her shoulders, gratefully accepting the small glass Theo pushed into her hand as he came up behind her.

“Attagirl, Pans. Blaise has been pushing the rest of us around for too long since you’ve left.” Theo raised his own glass in cheers, Blaise’s eyes already rolling, as Draco murmured a quiet “Speak for yourself.”

Throwing his Firewhisky back easily, Blaise shrugged. “Fine, if you’d rather we move on without addressing it, I’m happy to play along.” 

Pansy sipped at her rum, letting the liquid leave a warm trail down her throat, enjoying the pleasant burn it left behind. She smiled at his concession and glanced as Theo waved a finger at their drinks, motioning back towards the bar as he turned back for a second round.

“I think Theo’s decided it’s a celebration after all.” Draco mused, watching Theo lean over the counter and noisily shout their orders.

\- + -

Two hours later, the four of them were all crowded around their table, competing to be heard.

“Draco, for the last time – I swear to you, on my beloved mother’s grave, it was Ogden’s, not Blishen’s!” Theo laughed, small tears gathering at the eyes of his eyes as he wiped at them, his movements sluggish. Pansy made a small noise of scolding, trying to hush Draco who was caught between acting indignant and dissolving into laughter. 

“Theo, if you’re the one buying, really not sure it should matter, mate.” Blaise clinked his glass against Draco’s, slightly less far gone than the rest of them. Even Pansy’s head felt heavy, like she had been slipped Sleep Draught and was struggling to stay on her feet. If she closed her eyes for a second, she could feel the familiar walls of the Three Broomsticks spin on the backs of her eyelids, soft and glowing. She stifled a yawn, deciding that a moment of air would bring the life back into her. 

“Boys,” she gestured at Theo and Blaise, patting Draco’s arm as she passed, “I’m going to have a quick cig, I’ll be back. Don’t do another round without me, alright?” She heard Theo call back with what sounded like, ‘no promises,’ and shook her head. Fumbling the packet out of her small snakeskin purse, cursing herself silently for not bringing something larger and more practical, she dropped half the contents of her bag near the front door before she managed to open it. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” she muttered, shoving her lip balm and a few stray galleons back into her bag. She stood quickly, her head rushing at the sudden movement. Glancing around the pub to check no one was staring, her brain suddenly clicked with recognition at a cluster of faces across the room, watching her uneasily. Potter, Weasley – Gods, make that two Weasleys – Lovegood, and Longbottom, perhaps? Pansy was seconds from spinning on her heel until she noticed their eyes shift to a figure push past the doors of the toilet. Hermione, apparently, had already seen her, but Pansy was too far across the room to tell if Hermione’s face had scrunched up or if it was just the shadows catching at her jaw. Pansy clicked the latch of her purse closed with one hand and shoved at the door with the other, ducking into the night air and gulping in a ragged breath. Merlin be damned if she was going to get into another confrontation tonight. Plus, if she was honest, she wasn’t sure she could handle a row in her current state. Theo had been generous with the rum. Too generous, actually. Once she was safely away from the front door, Pansy leaned against the side of the pub. She absently heard the door open a few seconds behind her. She flicked her wand, lighting the end of her cigarette.

“Pansy…do you mind if I join you?” 

Her head whipped to the side, smoke barely escaping her closed lips. She exhaled, unsure if Granger had really materialised before her or if the rum had finally done her in. Shifting from one foot to the other, she nodded. Hermione looked different from this morning; the edges of stress evident earlier having softened. Out of her work robes, she looked warmer, less dangerous. Pansy took in the light and worn jeans she had on, her hands tucked into the pockets, arms covered in what looked like a temptingly cozy sweater. 

“Look,” Hermione stepped closer, hesitant. Pansy realized with a start that she seemed nervous. 

“Pansy, I want to apologize for my outburst this morning. I was shocked to see you, as you can imagine, and I shouldn’t have flipped on you like that.” Hermione looked up at Pansy through her lashes, a flush working up her neck. Pansy’s mouth fell open, her cigarette dangling from two fingers. She snapped her jaw shut a second later, caught off guard. Undeterred, Hermione continued.

“I…did some reading up on you after you left.” She wavered, brown eyes flickering from the ground to Pansy’s face. 

“Unsurprising.” Pansy croaked, watching Hermione step closer. 

“It wasn’t easy, you know. Finding the files, that is. Percy had to pull a few strings to get access to them. For how closely they were guarded, there wasn’t much in there.” Hermione sighed, fingers closing around the cigarette and pulling it from Pansy’s light grasp. 

“Smoking, Granger? Really?” Eyebrow’s lifting in surprise, Pansy felt herself almost teasing.

Hermione tentatively inhaled, couching fitfully seconds later. “No, Merlin,” she tried clearing her throat again, “Just seemed like the thing to do.” 

Pansy struggled to hide her smile, enjoying the fragile peace that had formed between them. 

“But your records did seem clean, and your references from MACUSA were pristine. You made quite the impression there, it seems. Which made me wonder, why leave? Why come back, Pansy?” Hermione hovered closer to her then, eyes soft and all pupils in the darkness. 

“I didn’t want to, Granger.” Pansy whispered, unsure if the alcohol or Hermione’s closeness had prompted the revelation. “I had to – I didn’t have a choice. I loved it there, my career was everything. The only friends I had in New York were in the force with me.” Pansy took one last drag, crushing the cigarette with the heel of her boot. 

“I worked closely with Tolliver for years, worked my way to that position fairly. It didn’t sit well with others. There were…allegations made, against me. All of them untrue. But they came from someone with connections and the force had to address them. I was told nothing would be reported if I left quietly.” 

“Pansy…I’m sorry. That’s-”

“It’s fine, it’s over.” Pansy cut off Hermione’s quiet words, unsure she could handle hearing them. When the silence became too heavy between them, Pansy motioned at Hermione.

“I told you the truth, now you tell me. What were you trying to do this morning?” She knew her questioning might push Hermione away, knowing at the same time she had to try.

“Trying to goad you, I think.” Hermione mumbled, not glancing up.

“Goad me?”

“Yes, _goad_ you.”

“Because…”

“Merlin, Pansy, you had just strutted into my office after how many years of silence? And fuck, I was – angry. Still am. For months I had tried to get a hold of you—”

“I told you not to contact me.” Pansy hissed, bristling at Hermione’s words.

“And that’s the only thing you _would_ tell me!” Hermione matched Pansy’s tone, her foot stomping quietly against the cobblestones. Pansy could feel Hermione’s indignant breath against her face, eyes narrowed. 

“Hermione…” Murmuring, Pansy reached out a tentative hand to Hermione, touching her arm. Hermione jerked from her touch, and Pansy longed to catch her arm, pull her in. 

“I just wanted answers, Pansy.” Hermione drew a breath, letting herself crowd in closer. Her posture had softened. Pansy dragged her gaze from Hermione’s questioning face to the hand that falteringly reached up and cradled the side of her cheek. Pansy drank in the feel of Hermione’s fingers against her cheek, her jaw, sending small jolts to her core. 

Voice ragged, Pansy closed her eyes against the touch. “Do you enjoy provoking me?” 

“Pansy…please.” Pleading, Hermione’s other hand moved to frame Pansy’s face. Pansy could breathe her in then, smell the lingering cinnamon from Hermione’s shampoo. Her eyes flashed open, meeting Hermione’s uncertain but firm stare. 

“Merlin,” Hermione breathed, fingers dusting light across Pansy’s pale neck, “You beautiful, daft woman.” 

Pansy’s heart fluttered wildly, leaned into the touch. She closed her hand around the back of Hermione’s waist and pulled her swiftly towards her. Her fingers closed firmly around her waist, body moving as if operating from muscle memory. Their bodies pressed against one another, warmth spreading between them, Pansy relishing in the familiarity yet strangeness of her body against hers. 

“I still want you.” Pansy’s lips twitched against Hermione’s ear, brushing past her thick curls. Hermione shuttered, Pansy pulling at her earlobe softly, pressing it gently between her teeth. She heard a muted moan escape Hermione’s lips, arching her back. Encouraged, Pansy pressed a kiss to the firm skin under Hermione’s ear, alternating between trailing slow kisses down her throat and gently biting at the cords of her neck. Hermione’s hands wound behind Pansy’s neck. She gripped tightly, nails biting into the skin. 

“I’m not going to apologize,” Pansy breathed, licking against the hollow of Hermione’s throat. 

“Merlin, fine.” Hermione uttered, eliciting a gasp as Pansy moved to cover her lips with her own. She tasted the Firewhisky on Hermione’s breath, her tongue grazing her bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth. Pansy had Hermione pushed against the cold brick of the wall then, fingers softly running against her neck, her shoulders, along the side of her ribs. She tucked a hand beneath Hermione’s sweater, ghosting over the warmth of her skin as her fingers rubbed lightly against her nipple, already firm against her touch. Hermione groaned into Pansy’s lips, murmuring her name softly, having the word cut off by Pansy’s tongue running firmly against hers. The kiss felt tentative but bold – both of them were holding back; Pansy afraid that Hermione would change her mind, Hermione that Pansy would disappear into thin air. The tension between them felt pulled tight and stretched taut, as if one wrong move would snap it apart. 

“This morning,” Hermione panted into Pansy’s ear, after she broke the kiss and returned to nibbling on Hermione’s ear. “Gods, I thought you were an apparition at first, you looked,” her mouth covered by Pansy’s again, more insistent this time, wanting. Hermione mumbled against Pansy’s mouth, and she drew back. Resting their foreheads against one another, Hermione caught her breath as Pansy’s hands continued to explore her skin, cupping a breast gently, rolling a nipple between her fingers. 

“You looked the same, different,” Hermione murmured, arching herself into Pansy’s touch. “Grown up, more…sure of yourself, even though I could tell you were afraid of me.” She emitted a soft laugh, ignoring Pansy’s low growl. “Gods, Pansy, I missed you.” Meeting her gaze, Pansy gently wiped the beginning of a tear from Hermione’s eye with the pad of her thumb. 

“Love, please,” Pansy felt breathless, her body aching. Aching with the weight of her guilt, desire, with the emotions she had refused herself for so long. Her hands came to rest on the small of Hermione’s waist. She felt weight of the day squeezing against her lungs, Hermione’s confession resting heavily against her chest, threatening to pull her under. 

“I wanted you, when I saw you,” Hermione whispered, ignoring Pansy’s earlier plea. Pansy elicited a soft, indistinct sound in return. “I always have. Merlin Pansy, I can’t…I can’t stop. You’ve always been—” She shook her head, and Pansy saw her own fear and need mirrored in Hermione’s eyes. Nodding, Pansy enclosed her gently within her arms, burying her nose into a sea of curls. Her throat was too tight to respond, unsure she’d be able to find the words regardless. Hermione clutched her tightly, clinging. She titled her head until her mouth brushed against Pansy’s ear. “Please.” 

Pansy felt herself nod, throwing up a quick and indistinguishable Disillusionment and warming charm though the street was quiet, only muffled voices and roars from the pub reaching them. She gently released herself from Hermione’s grasp and trailed her hands down her sweater. Dropping to her knees, she lifted the edge of the fabric, pressing wet kisses against the dip of Hermione’s hipbone, the line of skin above her jeans. She watched Hermione’s skin pebble beneath her touch; soft sighs catching in her throat as she tipped her head back against the brick, hair dragging over her shoulders. Pansy tasted the slight salt of her skin. Her fingers caught the button of Hermione’s jeans, deftly unzipping them and pushing them gently past her hips. She pressed her lips carefully to the cotton of her knickers, her head buzzing with need, with years of want. Hooking a finger around the elastic, she dragged them down, resting them against Hermione’s knees. She glanced up through the dust of her lashes and caught Hermione’s gaze, taking in the heat evident on her cheeks. She savoured the flush that covered Hermione’s neck, the way her eyes found hers, glazed and hungry. Pansy gently nudged her knees apart and closed her hands over soft thighs, her lips finding the bend of her leg. Her mouth roved across Hermione’s skin, holding herself back from her desire to devour her. Hermione was breathing heavily, her hands held lightly against Pansy’s hair. Pansy felt her pull softly at her strands, inhaling sharply as Pansy’s tongue brushed tentatively against her clit. Groaning, Hermione tried to push her hips forward. Pansy held her open with one finger, lapping slowly at her, tracing the softness with her tongue. Hermione was mewling now. Pansy noticed the way her hands shook against her. 

“Darling,” Hermione breathed, eyes dropping shut. Pansy’s heart clutched; she felt like she was losing control, edged on by Hermione’s tentative but demanding moans. She felt both lost in her memories and aching aware of the feel of Hermione in her mouth. She continued slowly, setting an excruciating pace as she circled and sucked against her clit, finally slipping a finger inside of her. 

“Is this what you needed?” Pansy mused, mouth still pressed against her. She slid another finger inside, crooked it, drew them out together in a quickening rhythm. 

“Pansy,” Hermione hissed through clenched teeth, “I’ve always – Gods, I’ve always needed, fuck,” she rocked her hips in earnest, desperate. Pansy sucked against her clit again, drawing Hermione to the edge. She heard Hermione’s panting above her accelerate. Coaxing her on, Hermione writhed until Pansy felt her tighten around her fingers, Hermione’s hands digging sharply in Pansy’s scalp and neck as she snapped her hips forward, her whole body locking in place. Pansy waited before slowly withdrawing her fingers, softly licking at her clit as Hermione came down from her orgasm. Moments later, Hermione wordlessly drew up her knickers, latching her jeans against her waist before she too fell to her knees, facing Pansy. Pansy kissed the edge of her mouth softly, feeling both languid and electrified. 

“I’ve always needed you too, love.” Pansy puffed quietly against Hermione’s ear. She wound her hand back through the knot of curls at the back of Hermione’s neck. Neither of them moved for what felt like stretched out minutes, the silence feeling thick. Her skin burned oversensitive and hot, as if it were her who had been touched. Pansy gripped her tenderly and felt her chest well and tighten. 

“Pansy, I—” Hermione tried, stopped herself. “You know that I—” 

Pansy watched the tears gather at the rims of Hermione’s eyes again, catching her lashes. They trailed idly down the peak of her cheekbones and dripped silently onto the knees of her jeans. 

“I can’t do this to myself again, Pansy, please. I can’t. When you left I felt like…like I couldn’t breathe.” 

The ache intensified in Pansy’s chest, crushing the words that tried to slip from her mouth in protest. 

“You meant too much, and it took me… too long, to recover. When you left.” The words rushed past Hermione’s lips, like they had been forced down for too long and now refused to stop. “And I shouldn’t have… Gods, I should have stopped you. But fuck, Pansy, seeing you today,” She choked, gripping Pansy’s hand, “I knew I could never let myself… not again, and I shouldn’t have followed you out, but I had to know.” Whimpering, Hermione closed her fingers tightly. Her knuckles were red against her skin.  
“Had to know what?” Pansy breathed out her response, her own voice feeling like gravel against her throat.

“Had to know if you still— I’m sorry Pansy. I won’t turn you away from work again though, I know your career is important to you. I won’t deny you that, won’t let ourselves get caught up in…this. We’ll remain – professional. We’ll pretend like this never happened.” Hermione bit out, convincing herself at the same time. She lurched forward then, catching Pansy’s lips in a kiss dripping with grief, and apparated with a sharp crack. 

Pansy’s hands found the ground then, no longer clutched between Hermione’s. Her vision blurred and she panted quietly with her head hung low until her chest slowed, easing in breaths. The last remnants of desire and longing pulsed through her as she leaned against the brick and hauled herself to her feet. Her feet felt heavy and uncoordinated as she dropped the Disillusionment charm and stumbled to the front of the pub again. She knew her eyes were rimmed with red and she angrily pressed the backs of her hands to them, willing herself to gain control. 

\- + -

“Alright there, Pans?” She heard Theo’s voice as she approached. 

“Theo, could you...?” She jerked her chin towards the loo, and Theo stood quickly, only swaying a little with the force of movement. Draco and Blaise exchanged looks, but they watched Theo loop and arm around Pansy’s back as they stumbled together towards the toilets in the back. Pansy ignored the indignant looks from other women as she shoved Theo into the largest stall, wandlessly casting a Muffliato around them.

“You look rubbish, Pans. And that was the world’s longest smoke.” Theo’s eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of her. His words slurred slightly but he motioned for her to go on.

“Theo…listen – Hermione was here – tonight. She followed me out of the pub, and, Gods, I _fucked_ her, I tasted her.” Pansy groaned as she slid down the side of the stall. Theo’s gaze sharpened with surprise, but he waited for her to continue.

“And she told me that she missed me. She was acting so strange, but it felt like being _home_ again, Theo. Ten fucking years and she felt…Merlin, delicious. And she was just there, suddenly, like she’d been waiting all this time. But she left. She,” Pansy raked her fingers through her hair, shaking her head with disbelief. “She rejected me. I don’t even know if I was asking, what I was asking really, but she stopped it. First out of fucking shame, now out of fear?” She laughed bitterly; the tang of her admission sharp on her tongue. 

“Pans,” Theo muttered as he reached out an arm and pulled her off the floor. “Firstly, that floor is disgusting, and you’ll definitely be washing those jeans after this. And,” he sighed, affectionately clasping at her hand, “We’re both piss drunk, and she’s an utter idiot.” He paused at Pansy’s noise of disapproval, but he stopped her. “This is all very quick, Pans. Seeing her this morning, seeing her today? You’re not thinking straight. You’ve been back for months now and haven’t even bothered to reach out. You’re like a starved woman. We both need to sober the hell up, but I’ll help you through this. I swear to you Pans, I’ll be there for you.” He gripped her shoulders tightly and shook her gently. She braced herself against his words, knowing he was right. Her desperation, confusion, and pain edged against the fuzziness in her mind still present from the rum. 

“Don’t tell Draco.” She whispered, searching Theo’s gaze until he nodded quickly. 

“Our secret, Pans. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! It happened! All feedback appreciated :)


	3. Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter but I wanted to write in a little flashback and it seemed like a good place to pause.

“Where’ve you lot been?” Blaise gave Theo and Pansy a once over, taking in Pansy’s slightly red eyes and Theo’s practiced smile.

“We shagged, mate, obviously.” Theo threw his hands up, causing the group to groan and Draco to knock back the rest of his drink. Pansy dug her elbow into his ribs but couldn’t stop her laugh. 

“Thanks, you bloody troll.” She muttered into his ear, pinching his side for good measure. Theo shrugged again and picked up his abandoned Firewhisky. 

“Doing Merlin’s work, Pans.” 

“Alright, it’s only a Monday and we’ve definitely overstayed our welcome.” Draco jutted his chin towards the bar where Madam Rosmerta was eyeing them warily. “Shall we?”

“I’m going to finish this,” Theo lifted his glass, “but you lot go ahead.”

“Get home safe, T.” Pansy softly patted Theo’s back before turning her glare onto Blaise. “You too, Blaise, though you’re still on probation after this morning.”

Blaise snorted. “Yeah Pansy, you’re welcome for helping you get your file looked at for that Ministry job. By the way, sorry you’re working for your ex…secret fling?” Huffing out a breath, Blaise wrapped his long fingers around Pansy’s arm, turning her towards him. 

“We all have our shit to deal with, Pansy. You know I would have told you if I had time.” His voice softened, though his eyes were cautious.

“Sure, Blaise, no hard feelings. See you tomorrow?” Pansy smiled but the warmth didn’t reach her eyes. She knew, in retrospect, she couldn’t really blame Blaise for not warning her. Was he still an arsehole for at least not mentioning it on the way over? Sure. Was he an easy target to direct her frustration towards? Undoubtedly. 

Blaise nodded his agreeance to Pansy’s question, watching as Draco turned and headed towards the exit, flicking his gaze to see if Pansy was following. She shot a quick wave back towards Theo and Blaise and pointedly did not turn when they reached the front door, unsure if the unholy trio and their followers were still in the back. 

\- + -

“So…” Draco’s tongue flicked over his lips as he cocked his head and watched Pansy kick off her boots at the door of her room. 

“What really happened tonight?” 

Pansy turned and caught Draco’s gaze, sharp and discerning. He was leaning casually against her door and Pansy felt her lips quirk as she took in the few strands of his blonde hair that had escaped being raked back and lightly hung across his forehead. She noted too the concern evident on his face, the way he was cracking the back of his knuckles across his open palm the way he did when he was nervous or unsure. 

Pansy’s jaw worked as she weighed her next works carefully. 

“I…ran into Hermione outside.” Draco drew in a breath but masked his surprise behind the facade of indifference he had mastered years ago. He glanced at her down from his patrician nose, eyes bright. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, she was significantly less hostile this time. She actually,” Pansy chewed her bottom lip, pulling off her socks in an effort to avoid Draco’s gaze. 

“She apologized, for this morning. She said she was okay working together if we could remain professional. I wanted Theo’s advice about it. I guess I was overwhelmed she would approach me at all. But,” Pansy steeled herself against Draco’s curious stare, “I still have a job, she still has an Auror, we’re good.” Picking at the seam of her jeans, Pansy balanced herself against the arm of the forest green sofa that filled the back wall of her room. 

“And you think _you'll_ be fine, working for her?”

“Yes Draco. I’ve had some time—”

“And some rum—”

“to think about all of this. It’ll be okay.” 

“Okay, Pans.” Draco’s voice softened as he took a seat beside her, gently tugging her off the armrest until she landed beside him. “Tea?”

Veter appeared with a pop, a vaguely annoyed look on his face. He already had two saucers precariously balanced in one hand, two small vials of Pepper-Up Potion in the other. Eyeing the two of them warily, he dropped the contents on the coffee table in front of them before apparating with a disapproving noise. Draco arched his brow before handing Pansy her cup.

“What really happened between you two, Pans? You never wanted to talk about it, even at the end.” 

Pansy could feel his steel eyes on her, soft but expectant. She had told him enough, over the years. She had even told Draco, Blaise, and Theo about Hermione at the near the end of sixth year, before she was even sure of what was going on herself. Large parts of the story, however, she had left out. Some of it due to Hermione’s requests, some because it felt too private – too intimate to share. 

“Draco,” Pansy tried to hold back her sigh, pulling her legs up under her and resting a hand against his knee. A number of gold rings she had put on earlier in the day stood out against the stark black of his trousers, catching the low lighting in the room.

“You and Blaise, Theo too, you had a lot on your mind back then.” She reached out tentatively, grazing the faded but clear lines of his mark with her fingers. Though it was no longer the ink black it had once been, she could still make out the open skull, the snake’s coiled body, its open jaw. She felt Draco tense under her touch but she gently squeezed his arm.

“And things with Hermione, they were…complicated.” And they had been, certainly. Pansy felt the now-familiar numbness return to her chest as she remembered the first time they had run into each other at one of Slughorn’s little gatherings. 

\- + -

**Hogwarts, 20 December 1996**

“Honestly Blaise, I’m only coming because I’d like to take this opportunity to piss off some Gryffindors, but you seriously owe me one.” Pansy picked a speck of lint off her dress, irritated that apparently every bit of dust in the castle wanted to stick to the thick black velvet of her short gown that night. She adjusted the thin straps that clung to her shoulders, touched the tight black choker against her neck. 

“Well, that makes two of us, Pansy. You and I both know it should be Theo going tonight, but we have to keep up appearances. Slughorn may be a bumbling old man but he’s got connections.” Blaise sent another ironing charm down his dress robes, sending one towards Pansy for good measure. Pansy bristled, knowing he was right. Blaise was alright at Potions, but she had always been a bit rubbish and could care less about working her way into the elusive Slug Club. 

“Gods, alright, yes. You chum it up with Slughorn and I’ll see if I can siphon off any stray bottles of Firewhisky he has laying around.” Blaise allowed himself a tired sigh as they approached the doors to Slughorn’s office. Pansy could already hear the muffled sounds of boisterous singing and mandolins from within.

“This all seems a little too cheery, don’t you think?” Pansy shot a disparaging look around the room, which had taken on the appearance of an overlarge and rather excessively festive tent. The real fairies were a nice touch, sure, but everything looked like it had been draped or painted by an over-zealous Gryffindor. 

“My sentiments exactly.” Blaise muttered, quickly catching the eye of Slughorn who waved him over with a shout. 

“Zabini, m’boy! Over here!” Blaise whispered a quick apology to Pansy before striding over to Slughorn, leaving her standing near the door. She scanned the room and noted the familiar faces of fellow students intermingled with Slughorn’s former favourites and a few strategically chosen guests. She felt someone hovering near her shoulder and she glanced over, eyes widening in surprise.

“Merlin, Longbottom, hobnobbing with the best of them, are we?” Pansy grinned and accepted a drink on the tray he extended towards her, looking sheepish.  
“Not part of the club, just, you know, helping out.” Pansy watched his cheeks redden and felt close to a little sorry – but not quite – for teasing him. The white outfit was truly punishment enough for him. 

“Me neither, Longbottom. Just here for the free drinks.” Shrugging, she reached over and snatched a second drink from the tray, already wishing the night were over. The next few hours proved much the same, as Pansy made polite conversation with a few former Slytherins in the room and continued to flag Longbottom down for drinks until she felt pleasantly warmed. Finding herself left alone, she spied a number of unopened bottles of Firewhisky lined in a cabinet Slughorn had hidden behind the gauzy fabric of the tent. Slipping through easily, she turned and collided into someone with a thud.

“Merlin, what the bloody— Granger?” Pansy’s wrath at practically being toppled turned quickly to suspicion at the sight of Hermione Granger rubbing at her forehead, her movements anxious. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Hermione sighed, crossing her arms as her eyes darted between Pansy and the party. “I’m…avoiding someone I’d rather not bump into.”

Pansy sized her up then, the string of silver jewels lining her throat, the dress she wore that resembled Champagne when she moved and pulled taut against her chest. A thin line of shimmer ran across the tops of her cheekbones and reflected the flecks of gold in her eyes. 

“What, the entire room?” Pansy glanced at Hermione and back through the tent. She heard Hermione’s soft laugh and the small shake of her head.

“No – well, actually, a bit. My date, McLaggen. He’s being handsy…tried to trap me near the mistletoe.” 

Pansy nodded, her mouth a grim line. She had heard about McLaggen before and his ability to harass almost every girl in sixth year. 

“Parkinson, right? Pansy?” Pansy turned at Hermione’s tentative question, realizing the two of them were arm-to-arm in the small space.

“Mhmm, that’s right.” Murmuring, Pansy flashed Hermione a quick smile. She had never really interacted with the girl before and had largely assumed she was an absolute twat like Potter and Weasley. Her thoughts were interrupted though as abruptly the break in the tent opened and Pansy was forced to take a few steps back to avoid being knocked into again. 

“Hermione? Oh, there you are, slippery little minx.” McLaggen grinned as he pushed past Pansy and glided his arm around Hermione’s waist. Pansy took in his rather drole beige dress robes and the overabundance of Sleekeazy caked into his hair. Crinkling her nose in displeasure, she moved to rejoin the party before she caught Hermione’s gaze. Hermione was stuttering, trying to detach herself from McLaggen’s grip but utterly failing. Her eyes wildly sought out Pansy, desperate. Pansy groaned and steadied herself for what she hoped would be over quickly.

“Alright, McLaggen, hands off.” Pansy shot a hand between Hermione and McLaggen, trying to plant herself between them.

“Parkinson, you’re being quite rude, we’d like you to leave.” McLaggen drew back and glared down at her, jaw twitching in irritation. Pansy pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. 

“Bugger off, Cormac. Truly, _truly_, bugger off. Granger doesn’t want your hands on her, and no one gives a goblin’s arse about your Uncle Tiberius and whoever the bloody hell he goes hunting with. So off you fuck before I let it slip in the Slytherin common room that you've been harassing women.” Pansy crossed her arms and adopted the most scathingly bored expression she could, watching as McLaggen’s mouth hung open in anger before whipping to face Hermione, who had taken a few steps back and was pointedly ignoring his gaze. 

“Right, well, you can both go and fuck yourselves.” McLaggen growled as he gathered what pride he had left and threw back the edge of the tent, fuming. Pansy’s suppressed laughter filled the small space, delighted at seeing McLaggen’s expression. She dabbed at the corner of her eye and watched him bustle off. 

“Thank you.” Hermione closed the space between them, reaching for Pansy’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze before dropping it. Pansy’s gaze slid down to her hand clasped in Hermione’s, her grip soft and light. The quick move of gratitude unsettled Pansy. She found the genuine kindness behind Hermione’s eyes startling, unsure how to read it. 

“Don’t mention it, Granger.” Breathing quickly, Pansy tried to maintain her cool exterior as she cleared her throat and glanced down at her fingernails, pretending to inspect them. 

“Really though, thank you. I don’t know why I can’t seem to shake him, but I owe you one. What were you, er, coming back here to do, anyways?” Hermione gestured around the alcove.

“Was going to nick Slughorn’s Firewhisky stash, want to help?” Pansy reached behind Hermione and grabbed one of the bottles before cracking open her clutch and slipping the bottle inside, hearing a soft clink from the bottom. 

“Merlin, was that a—”

“Undetectable extension charm?” Pansy couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she reached past Hermione again and dropped a second bottle into her bag, their arms brushing. Hermione shifted from foot to foot, torn between her curiosity and her suspicion.

“Those are Ministry-controlled, aren’t they?”

“Theoretically, sure. Tricky to learn, but not impossible.” Pansy nudged Hermione over then, crouching in front of the shelf of bottles and making quick work of adding them to her clutch while she balanced on the front of her heels. Hermione was silent behind her until Pansy straightened up, smoothing the hem of her dress over the tops of her thighs. 

“Could you…” Hermione nibbled at her top lip, “teach me?”

“Hermione Granger, top of her class, is asking for help from an under-the-table Slytherin?” Pansy tsked, propping one of her hands on her hip, enjoying Hermione’s flustered face as she rolled her eyes at Pansy. 

“Yes, Merlin – Pansy, I’m not too proud to ask.” Hermione had a smile gathering at the corner of her lips, but her words were a challenge, and Pansy ran her tongue over the front of her teeth before responding. 

“Sure, fine. I’ll show you.” Shrugging, Pansy let the silence that followed fill the space between them. After a few beats, Hermione stepped forward carefully, her eyes bright and searching Pansy’s. She was so close now, Pansy could smell hints of cinnamon and honey drifting from Hermione’s pinned curls. Unthinkingly, her hand reached out as she coiled a stray curl around her finger, tugging on it gently. Hermione drew in a sharp breath, and Pansy quickly pulled her hand back with an apology already on the tip of her tongue. Before she could, Hermione’s face was level to hers. Her eyes were soft, searching, but warm. She closed the fleeting space between them as she moved her hand behind Pansy’s neck and the other lightly tilted Pansy’s face down to press a kiss to her lips. The kiss was excruciatingly, maddeningly gentle. Pansy exhaled into it, letting her own hands find the small of Hermione’s back, the nape of her neck, fingertips burning against the softness of her curls. Pansy felt her world momentarily tilt, suspended between the noise on the other side of the tent and the tentative but firm movements of Hermione’s mouth against hers. It felt hungry, searching like her gaze that had sought out Pansy’s earlier. Pansy felt Hermione groan into her then, and her hand reached down to drag Hermione’s leg up against her, insistent. Her fingers pressed greedily into her flesh, surprised at what was taking place but feeling unmistakeable warmth spread across her skin. Pansy was seconds away from suggesting they move elsewhere when she heard Blaise calling from the other side, insistent and getting louder. Hermione’s leg slipped back down slowly, their breathing taking a few seconds to return to normal. 

“We…we should go.” Hermione’s gaze flicked past Pansy.

“Agreed, I…” 

“Prefect’s Bathroom, fifth floor, tomorrow at midnight. Password is Pine Fresh.” Whispering quickly before she had a second to respond, Hermione pressed her lips to the shell of Pansy’s ear then spun on her heel and pushed past the tent back into the heart of the gathering. Stunned, Pansy’s fingers touched her bottom lip as she regained her composure as best she could before she went in search of Blaise. She found him impatiently waiting by the door.

“Gods, who’ve you been snogging?” Blaise appraised her with a wicked smirk, taking in her swollen lips. 

“Blaise,” Pansy patted his shoulder with a sigh, directing them both out the door. “You truly wouldn’t believe me.”


	4. Rose

**Hogwarts, 21 December, 1996**

Pansy slipped noiselessly from the Slytherin common room, eyes darting along the darkened hallway. She suspected following up on Granger’s request to meet was likely the stupidest thing she had done in a while, but as midnight inched closer, she knew she would go. Of course, she already knew where the Prefect’s Bathroom was – really, how silly of Granger to tell her, didn’t she remember that she had been a Prefect only last year? Pansy shook her head and tried to still her thoughts. 

She moved as silently as possible, taking pains to pause against the walls and hold her breath, listening for Filch or, Merlin forbid, Peeves. The last thing she needed was detention or a screeching poltergeist to alert the rest of the castle to her whereabouts. It took her twice as long to reach the fifth floor but the relief she felt at making it without being caught was palpable. Muttering the password as she pressed herself against the entrance, Pansy gently pushed the door open and took in the room. It hadn’t changed since she saw it last; the polished taupe marble gleamed against the low lighting of the chandelier, reflecting against the stained-glass windows that threw shades of soft blues, greens, and purples against the floor. The mermaids in the glass watched her with mild interest, some yawning and nuzzling their faces against their arms, others more annoyed at being kept awake. Pansy knew that despite the time it took her to get here, she was still a few minutes early and made quick time by turning on a number of the golden taps around the tiled bath until it was overflowing with large pink bubbles that rose idly and popped a few inches in the air. Pansy quietly admitted to herself she wasn’t exactly sure what Hermione had in mind when she asked her to come, and perhaps the bath was a tad presumptuous, but what could it hurt? Once the water was inches from the edge, Pansy stripped off her uniform and laid it carefully on the far wall before tucking her wand underneath it. The cold air in the room licked at her bare skin as she shivered against it, toes curling against the discomfort. Quickly, she dove into the water, emerging seconds later at the far end of the bath, hair slick against the back of her neck. 

“Parkinson?” There, near the entrance of the room, Hermione stood tentatively. She sounded far away – her voice hushed but still echoing against the walls. Her eyes zeroed in on Pansy then and widened. 

“I…didn’t know if you’d come.” Hermione lightly pushed off her shoes then socks with both heels, padding towards the edge of the bath barefoot where Pansy was resting her arms against the side. 

“Mm,” Pansy tilted her head, looking up at Hermione’s face, seeing the nerves there, “but I knew you would.” She saw Hermione’s throat bob as she swallowed, cheeks flushing slightly. 

“Going to join me, then?” Pansy let the question hang in the air between them. Instead of responding, Hermione lowered herself until she was seated at the edge of the bath, dangling her feet in the water up to her calves. 

Hermione made a noncommittal noise, her eyes purposefully avoiding Pansy’s face. 

“I don’t really know why I asked you here. It seemed, I don’t know, reckless last night. You were so coy, and almost…kind to me. I’ve never seen you like that. I was curious, I think.” Hermione spoke down at her folded hands.

“So, it wasn’t the velvet dress that was doing it for you?” Pansy itched to reach out and stroke Hermione’s calf, dark against the water, to run her hand along the arch of her foot. Hermione’s eyes shot to the ceiling as she sighed.

“I mean, fine. Sure. A little. Parkinson—”

“Pansy.” She interjected quietly, wanting to hear Hermione say it.

“Sorry, Pansy then. You have to admit, you’ve always been… truly a prat to me.”

Pansy opened her mouth to respond but found herself unable to pull up her usual quick retorts. She could admit that she was perhaps mean-spirited at times, certainly petty. But had she really singled Granger out in any way? Or had she just been horrible in general to her and her friends? Pansy found she wasn’t really sure. It made her feel uneasy, set her on edge.

“Fine, I’ll admit I’ve been a git—at times!” Pansy finally interjected. She also hated how vulnerable she felt suddenly, knowing now Hermione wasn’t here for a quick shag. But she hadn’t expected to be confronted. Or corrected. Whatever exactly it was Hermione was doing, fully clothed, while Pansy was at least thankful for the bubbles that hid her body. 

“Pansy,” Hermione sighed, looking her fully in the eyes this time. “In fourth year, you told Skeeter that Harry and I were romantically involved. I think you actually called me ugly. And you laughed when Malfoy hexed me! And you were part of that bloody awful Inquisitorial Squad last year, and—”

“Gods, Granger, I get it.” Pansy cut Hermione off as her voice started to rise. She wondered if her own cheeks were flushed now. Pansy had never been overly proud of who she was at school, at who she had left herself become. But her loyalties to her friends—to Draco, Theo, Blaise, even Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent—came before anything. Following them, protecting them, supporting them—it had made her cruel. She had learned quickly to quell the softer parts of herself, tucking them away until she presented a mere shell of herself to the outside world. 

Lifting her gaze, she stared up at Hermione, who now refused to look away. 

“I’m sorry.” Pansy exhaled as the weight of her apology felt heavy against her chest. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Just because you were—” she stopped herself from saying ‘pretentious,’ or ‘a know-it-all,’ instead haltingly admitting, “Just because you were in a different House, different from me, didn’t mean I should have said those things. “I’m…trying.” 

And she was, at least she felt she was. The first term of sixth year had proved to be the hardest she had experienced. Draco was distant, barely an echo of his former self. She knew what was going on with him, the pressures he and Theo were facing, and felt utterly powerless to intercede. She could feel the darkness gathering about them, sticking to their skin like tar, clouding their moods, their judgements. Pansy also knew better than to ask them about what was going on. She knew. She watched it happen to her father the year before. The way his skin became sallow and gaunt, the way he avoided her eyes, snapped at her mother, disappeared for days on end, coming back looking like a man bordering between life and death. He stopped hugging her when she came home to visit, stopped touching her altogether. Pansy watched him slip from her and now felt the chasm opening under her feet as her friends—her true family, her loves—were caught on the other side. She also felt shame for the relief that she was a woman and so young. It wasn’t likely she would be recruited the way Draco had been. Her loyalties were assumed based upon her heritage, friends, and House, and she made no effort to correct this. Did Granger think her a coward? Pansy realized that she didn’t care, couldn’t care. She believed the only way to protect those closest to her was to keep them close. And, a small thought prickled at the back of her mind, what would her father do if he found out she spoke against his Lord? Would she still be his only child, his little girl, or a blood traitor? Pansy had heard whispers about what they did blood traitors. She knew better than to speak up.

Gritting her teeth, Pansy looked back to Hermione. “If you’re looking for me to have some Gryffindor redemption arc, it won’t happen. I’m sorry for what I said to you, but I won’t apologize for who I am, who my family is. Also,” Pansy rasped, “_you_ invited me here. _You_ kissed me last night. What is it exactly that you want?”

Hermione hesitated, but set her jaw. “Alright, I accept your apology. That wasn’t why I told you to meet me here though.” She grumbled, but Pansy caught the edge in her voice and the red that returned to her neck. 

This—this utterly _strange_ situation she found herself in now, naked in the water, apologizing to bloody Granger, felt like Pansy had stumbled into someone else’s peculiar dream. And this was not how she pictured this playing out. On a whim, she gripped one hand to the back of Hermione’s calf and the other around her ankle, tugging hard until she felt Hermione’s weight shift as she slipped into the water.

Sputtering, Hermione gasped to the surface, her hands smacking against the surface of the bath. 

“My bloody uniform, Parkinson!” She growled, hair half covered in bubbles. 

“Then take it off.” Pansy cooed, finally level with Hermione as she easily treaded water a few feet away. She watched her for a second, enrapt with the way the water trickled down Hermione’s neck and in rivulets from the ends of her hair. 

Surprisingly, Hermione laughed. She gripped the rim of the bath with one hand and tried to pull off her shirt with the other, struggling against the wet fabric.

“Going to help me then, or just going to watch?”

Pansy swam over in two strokes and reached out for Hermione’s waist. She found the latch of her bra under the water and undid it quickly, letting Hermione slide the straps off her arms and toss it away from the water. Within moments, she had discarded the rest of her clothes and turned to face Pansy. Pansy slid her hands down Hermione’s shoulders, tucking into the corners of her waist, feeling her for the first time.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, hearing Hermione’s sharp intake of breath. Hermione’s own hands grasped the side of Pansy’s cheek, cupping her face and drawing her closer. Hermione traced the bottom of Pansy’s lip with the pad of her thumb before pulling it down gently and leaning in, tugging the lip into her mouth. She kissed her until she pulled back for a breath.

“Beautiful.” Hermione whispered, mirroring Pansy’s words. 

\- + -

**Pansy's Room in Malfoy Manor, September 2007**

“Complicated how?” Draco prodded Pansy, pushing the cup of tea into her hands.

“We were so young.” Pansy sighed. She was uncomfortable already, reluctant to dredge up memories from the past. “You know that it was mainly…physical for a while.”

“Right,” Draco nodded, attempting to fill in the gaps. “You told me it fizzled out near the end of sixth year. That there were some hard feelings?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t particularly the full truth.” 

Lines gathered along Draco’s forehead as his eyebrows raised in question. The look of surprise on his face told her that Theo hadn’t betrayed her confidence in the past and told Draco the extent of her and Hermione’s relationship. 

“We did see each other during the last term of sixth year, and it was just physical in the beginning, but—it was also more. After what happened at the Astronomy Tower,” she watched as Draco stiffened and tried to skim over the details, “she’d slip away from the Weasley’s…home…and come and see me. All throughout the summer. It wasn’t safe, but we’d find somewhere private, somewhere we could be alone. After the Ministry fell, it was harder. I didn’t hear from her for months on end. But she’d still find a way to get me messages, let me know she was safe. We reconnected after the war. For about six months, until—”

“Until you left.” Draco finished for her, his voice flat. 

“Pansy,” Draco breathed, his eyes narrowed now. “Did you leave because…of her?”

“No! No, I—I left because of bloody _everything_.” Pansy matched Draco’s tone. Her voice felt like a challenge to him, daring him to push her. 

“The investigations, the trials, you, Theo, my parents…and Hermione.” She felt herself stiffen as a familiar ache settled between her ribs. 

“I wasn’t like you Draco, I couldn’t compartmentalize what was going on. What you went through—what we all went through. It consumed me. Every day I felt like the life was being squeezed out of me, watching my friends suffer, die, then rounded up like animals after the war ended. Hermione was a light—my light. She softened the edges. But she couldn’t…” Pansy glanced at Draco, dark green eyes meeting grey. She saw sympathy in his, and for a second resented him for it. 

“She wouldn’t tell her friends about us. They knew something was going on. They knew she sometimes saw me. They thought it was a release for her, an escape. Nothing more. After the war, I thought we could actually stop hiding. But she was too ashamed, Draco. Of me. That I refused to choose her side fully during the war, that I protected you and the boys. That my father was a fucking _Death Eater_. That my best friends…” Pansy bit down on her lip, drawing blood to the edge of her tongue. 

Draco took the cup from her hands and set it back down gently on the table. He gathered her to his chest and she didn’t protest, letting him gently stroke her hair, no longer denying her the affection and comfort she had sought earlier that day. His fingers moved quietly through her hair, brushing it past her ear to where it fell in blunt layer on her neck. 

“I love you, Pans.” He sighed against her hair. “Theo loves you, Blaise loves you too, in his own way. Whatever drove you away, we’re happy you’re home. It doesn’t matter to me what Granger did or what happened. I’m happy you’re here now.” 

Pansy felt herself relax into his embrace. Soothed by his quiet words, she let herself imagine that things would be fine after all and refused to let her mind water to the inevitable. To seeing Hermione the next day, working with her. She had her friends around her again, just like always. She wouldn’t let Granger hold the amount of power over her that she had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so flashbacks are probably going to happen every chapter or so (or two? I have no idea). Also, I promise things will speed along next chapter! As always, feedback and thoughts appreciate :)


	5. Sage

Pansy strode down the halls of the Ministry towards her—Hermione’s?—office, shoulders squared and ready. In honour of her fleeting bravery for returning to work, she had donned her white Joan Crawford-inspired pantsuit. Draco had kindly reminded her summer was over when she breezed past him on her way to the Floo, but she needed its energy today. If she had to face Granger, and Merlin forbid Percy, she might as well do it in an outfit that perfectly cinched her waist and billowed around her ankles as she made her way towards the front line. It made her feel powerful, acting as a buffer to the painful anxiety rippling through her core that morning.

As she reached near the end of the hallway, however, she noticed the door to the office was already ajar. Someone emerged seconds later, and as Pansy slowed, she narrowed her eyes, recognition dawning.

“Good morning, Auror Potter.” Pansy smiled in what she hoped came across as polite and hid her internal grimace. She had barely glimpsed Potter the night before, but seeing him now, she noticed the thin lines that graced his forehead and crinkled at his eyes when he smiled in return. He looked—damn him—still effortlessly handsome, with his impossibly stupid hair that looked freshly washed and softened his image despite the severity of his Auror’s robes. Pansy had never cared much for the Ministry’s Auror robes, all heavy long jackets and buckles. Her robes at MACUSA had been much softer and lighter, and in her opinion, easier to move in. She almost missed wearing her robes every day. She had no need for them while stuck in an office, but had acquired some nonetheless. 

“Auror Parkinson.” He extended his hand and Pansy shook it lightly. She felt the callouses along his palm, but his grip was soft. 

“I’m actually glad I caught you this morning, I was hoping to go over some details for Robards’ trial with you and Hermione this morning.”

Potter held the door back open for Pansy and she stepped around him and into the office. Hermione was already seated at her desk and was bent over a number of documents sprawled in front of her. She looked—Pansy thought rather smugly—absolutely terrible. Hermione had deeply lined bags under her eyes and had definitely forgot to look over her hair that morning. She nodded a greeting to her as Pansy took a seat in front of the desk just as Potter did.

“Auror Parkinson—may I call you Pansy?” Potter glanced towards her as he reached for the largest document on the desk. 

“And please, call me Harry.” 

Pansy smiled again as she murmured in agreeance. It seemed that Potter, or, Harry, she supposed, had let the bitterness of the war subside. She knew logically that for her to have been hired at the Ministry, Harry would have looked over her file and agreed to her employment. Although she had never interviewed with him, besides Shacklebolt, he would have been the last to sign off on her papers. She also noticed there was a calmness about him now that had evaded him in their school years. 

“As you know, Pansy, Robards’ trial is approaching. Unfortunately, the Minister has moved the trial to this Friday due to increasing security concerns. We feel confident with the Ministry’s case at this point in time. We already have Robards’ confession that during his time as Head Auror, he was feeding vital information to those under the direction of Voldemort. Hermione was actually one of the first in the DMLE to suspect him years after the incidents took place. Which is why her testimony is important to the case.” Harry nodded towards Hermione, who was closely following his words.

“And I’m happy to give it.” Hermione interjected, though Pansy noticed an edge to her voice.

“Right. However, there have been whispers of retribution for Robards’ capture. We suspect an attack of sorts might be launched near the date of Robards’ trial. At this point we have no conclusive evidence that something of this nature will take place but are concerned, nonetheless. Especially after the attempt on Abbott.” Harry folded his legs carefully and directed his gaze to Pansy.

An attack? Pansy knew that a few Death Eaters had evaded capture after the war, and that a number of disillusioned wizards had bolstered their numbers in the years afterwards. She had always assumed they were outliers and had no real substance to their cause. 

“You think this attack will be substantial?” She questioned, eyes sliding between Hermione’s nervous stance and Harry’s cool exterior. 

“We have no way to tell. The trial will be closely guarded by my team and you’ll be with Hermione the day of as well. We want to overprepare, you see.” Harry handed her the stack of papers he had in his hands and Pansy reached out to take them. 

It was a list, she realized. A list of suspected Death Eaters still on the loose and those who had joined them. Each name had a small photo beside it as well as all the relevant information gathered on the individual. She looked down bleakly at the moving squares that reflected back the faces of aggravated and dangerous men. Some of the pictures had obviously come from their time in Azkaban, some were school photos, others were blurry and taken during a chase. 

“Memorize this list.” Harry stated, rising to his feet. “We suspect a few newer recruits will try to station themselves inside the Wizengamot during the trial. They think they have anonymity on their side, but we’ve worked tirelessly to compile this list. You need to be able to recognize their faces in the event they do decide to show up. Note the listed tactics they’ve used and familiarize yourself with how they attack.” Harry squeezed Hermione’s shoulder tenderly before he moved towards the door. 

“I’ll see you later, Hermione, take it easy.” 

“I will, Harry.” Hermione patted his hand and watched him leave before turning to Pansy.

“This is quite the list.” Pansy murmured once they were alone, her fingers flitting through the stack of pages in front of her. 

“You’re surprised.” Hermione suggested. One of her eyebrows had risen, sharpening her gaze. 

Pansy followed Hermione’s eyes for a moment before responding. Was she surprised? She looked down at the papers again. She recognized a number of last names already listed. She pointedly avoided the section labeled “P” and tried to calm her features.

“I am,” Pansy confirmed, “I think being in New York, I haven’t followed the news over here as closely.”

“The DMLE didn’t exactly advertise what was going on, for fear it would alert those looking for a cause to join.” Hermione was regarding her carefully. Her fingers worried the edge of her blouse. Pansy could feel something building between them. It felt like tension, but it was heavy with something else. 

“And you didn’t even hear…whispers of this?” Hermione pressed. 

“No.” Pansy held herself back from snapping. She let the word fall from her lips, hoped it sounded casual. Was Hermione insinuating something? That Pansy had contact with some of these men – or those who knew them? Yes, she knew names on the list. If she looked closely enough, she would probably recognize some faces. Had a few been at her house before, years earlier? Had her parents entertained them at their table? Yes. But it felt like a lifetime ago. 

Hermione leaned back in her chair and nodded slowly. It appeared she was choosing to trust Pansy’s word, letting the issue drop. Pansy rose to her feet.

“I’m going to look this over.” She sighed, moving towards the desk reserved for her in the corner of the room, still facing Hermione’s. Hermione returned to the papers in front of her without another word.

Pansy dropped the stack of papers down and tried to arrange her features in a look of cool indifference. She thumbed through the document until it found the back section again. Travers. Unsurprising, that one. The whole family had gone bad. She flipped a few pages before. Stokley, Stroud, Shaw. A few more pages now. 

Parkinson. The name in black ink stood out starkly against the crisp white of the parchment. She felt a shiver work its way up her spine. Pansy peered closer at the images in front of her and took in the first names listed. Parkinson, Alden. Parkinson, Slade. Her cousins. The sons of her father’s eldest brother. In an instant, Hermione’s earlier suspicions made sense. Of course Hermione had gone through the list already, had seen Pansy’s family members on a list of newly recruited Death Eaters. Pansy hadn’t heard from the family in years. Her aunt occasionally sent her a letter every Christmas or so which contained sparse details of the family but requested little information in return. The last time she had seen her cousins was before the war itself, when they were young adults and Pansy was still in the throes of her teenage years. 

The news of their recruitment threatened to floor her. Pansy had to stop herself from laughing bitterly. Her family, at the centre of another desperately dark plot, again. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised after all. She forced herself to look at their pictures. Slade’s proud face reflected back at her, a dated photo that featured him in his Slytherin robes. He had the Parkinson features: pale skin, dark green eyes, a shock of black hair, slightly pinched nose. Alden’s photo was more recent, but it was hard to make out his features in the photo. His face was partially turned, and he was walking away from the photographer, who clearly had captured it without Alden knowing. He was being followed at the time, Pansy suspected. His skin looked sallow, aged. 

The information listed about the two was meagre. Family details were there, and Pansy felt her stomach flip when she noticed her own name listed under known relatives. Not suspects, just relatives. The knowledge that her name was anywhere in this document made her skin crawl. From what was listed, it seemed like her cousins were both fairly new recruits and had been sighted in known Death Eater hotspots in Albania. 

“You’ve seen them, then?”

Pansy’s head snapped up at Hermione’s question. Hermione had no trace of smugness to her, only a lingering weariness. 

“Pansy,” Hermione paused to push her hands through her hair, a nervous tick that Pansy nearly forgot she had. “If they’re there, at the trial? One of your cousins. I’m not saying it’s likely, but what if they’re there? Harry mentioned their names had been brought up by an informant. Would you…” 

Hermione’s voice trailed off, but her eyes stayed locked on Pansy. There was an intenseness to her that unsettled Pansy. She realized her knee was quickly and silently bouncing under the table.

“I’ll do my job.” Pansy kept her voice level. She knew what Hermione was implying, knew exactly what she was referring to. But this—this was different. This wasn’t the war. This was her job. It was no longer about sides, about loyalty, about family. She had been hired to do a job, and she would do it no matter what. 

Hermione accepted her answer and her gaze softened. They were still seated apart at their desks, but Pansy wished Hermione would reach out, touch her hand gently. Reassure her. 

“I know you will, Pansy.” She breathed. 

Pansy felt the tightness in her chest ease. Hermione smiled at her carefully, but the motion didn’t reach her eyes. A haunted look had settled over her brow, and Pansy knew she was thinking of the war. She could guess the moment she was reliving quietly in her mind, willing or not, beholden to her memories. 

\- + -

**May 2, 1998 - The Battle of Hogwarts**

Pansy felt her whole body viscerally react to Voldemort’s voice echoing through the Great Hall. Midnight. They only had until midnight. She couldn’t stop the shaking in her hands, the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She didn’t know where Hermione was—was she here? Or where Draco was, and she hadn’t heard from Crabbe or Goyle either. Millicent was opposite the table from her, equally pale. She was seated between Blaise and Theo, both of whom were silent. 

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she spotted him. Potter. 

“But he’s there! Potter’s _there!_ Someone grab him!” She sputtered, rising from the table. Wands were in her face quicker than she could react.

“No, I— if we could just—” Pansy’s eyes were wild as she tried to explain, tried to make them see. If they could just use Potter as bait, perhaps? To make sure everyone in the school was safe before he—Voldemort—descended upon them. And her father, a voice in her head added quietly. He was coming too. Pansy clutched at her chest as she sat back down at the Slytherin table, trying to slow the frantic tremors of her heart. Millicent reached across the table and pulled Pansy’s hand towards her, cupping it in her own. Blaise whispered something at her, something harsh, but she couldn’t hear him. McGonagall’s voice was a low din in the back of her mind as well as she watched the rest of her housemates stand and slowly file out of the Great Hall. Millicent gently pulled her to her feet and tried to usher her away.

“Mill, no, listen, I have to stay, I can’t—” Pansy whispered frantically to her, and Millicent held a finger up to hush her.

“Pansy, enough. They’re all watching us now. Wait.”

She noticed that Theo too was watching her closely. She caught the rolls of fear coming off him, and his eyes searched hers with a quiet panic when she met his gaze.

“Pansy, don’t you dare.” Theo muttered under his breath, “I swear to Merlin, Pansy, if you try to stay—”

“Nott, I’ve got her.” Millicent bristled, shoving Theo so he walked in front of them. Pansy obeyed quietly and allowed Millicent to lead her away from the Great Hall. Once they were a few minutes away, Pansy felt Millicent’s body weight push her quickly into a recess behind one of the statues.

“Stay hidden, stay safe.” Millicent hissed as she squeezed Pansy’s hand so lightly, she wondered if she imagined it. 

“Thank you, Mill.” Pansy breathed, watching as her friend turned as if she had never moved at all, following the lines of Slytherins away from the castle. She watched Theo’s back a few metres ahead of her disappear around the corner, unaware she was no longer following him. She sent up a silent apology to him, hoped he would forgive her, that he would understand. 

She stilled herself against the back of the statue and listened to retreating footsteps for what felt like long and stretched out moments. She gripped her wand against her side tightly, the pressure against her fingers soothing. 

Think. She had to think. She knew Draco was in the castle still. If she could find him, if she could just get to him… Maybe she could convince him to leave with her. Having no clue where to start, Pansy emerged from her hiding place and stepped into the empty hallway. She stayed close to the walls as she made her way farther from the Great Hall and towards the stairways. She moved at a slow pace, and it reminded her for a moment of the first time she had snuck out to meet Hermione. Pansy had a strange urge to laugh at the contrast. Gods, what she’d give to go back to that moment, which now seemed a lifetime away. It was hazy in her memory, all gently popping bubbles, water the colour of a sunset, soft flesh, warm lips. She’d give anything. 

It took her almost half an hour to move gradually through one part of the school, narrowly avoiding a number of Order members that seemed to emerge from thin air in quick intervals. She recognized the Weasley girl, and an Auror with strange hair that looked violently purple. Pansy barely had time to duck behind a corner before they passed her in a rush. She was getting closer; she could feel it. To what though, she wasn’t sure. Moments later, Pansy heard a great roar come from within the walls around her. It sounded like the castle itself was about to erupt, and Pansy darted down a small corridor in an attempt to put distance between herself and the noise.

It sounded like the castle itself opened up and spit out a number of bodies, its walls closing with a thud behind them. But there were voices, too, she realized. Voices she recognized. Pansy’s throat tightened as she heard Hermione’s soft voice, and Potter’s too. And…Goyle? Pansy flew back down the hallway towards them, desperate to confirm that she had heard right. When they came into view, there were only two figures standing there. She almost cried with relief at the sight of Draco and Goyle in the hallway. As Pansy approached, she realized they were covered in soot, the edges of their robes scorched off. 

“Pansy? What in Merlin’s name—”

Draco turned as she dove at him, gripping him tightly as she pressed her body to his and coated herself in the thick black ash clinging to his robes. She inhaled the scent of fire—of burning—and groaned.

“What in the Gods are you two doing here? What in the absolutely bloody hell _happened_ to you both?” Pansy stepped back but maintained a grip on Draco’s arm, and pulled Goyle into a rough hug as well. She could hear the desperation and the fear in her voice as she clutched at them. Both Draco and Goyle looked in shock, both frightened beyond means. 

“Greg?” Pansy gently gripped his arm and shook him. His eyes were hollow.

“Pansy,” he rasped, “Crabbe—he’s—Vince is gone.” 

Pansy dropped his arm and watched as Goyle slipped away from her. He was shaking his head slowly, unable to speak. She felt the thick roots around her heart tighten another notch. Vincent was gone. Pansy tried to absorb the news, tried to brace herself. She knew this was a likelihood, losing him. Losing all of them, really. By their own foolish and utterly spineless decisions to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. Bitterness and anger lashed against the sorrow trying to engulf her as she fought against the tide.

“I heard—” Pansy turned to Draco, “I heard other voices.”

Draco looked at her in defeat. He had the same expression Theo had earlier, and she recognized it as pure fear. 

“Potter, Granger, and Weasley. We followed them in…Vince set Fiendfyre on them. I don’t think he knew what he was doing, he couldn’t control it. Potter, he came back and got us. We wouldn’t have made it out otherwise.” 

Pansy latched onto his words and clung to them.

“Granger? Granger was in there? Is she safe? Where—where did she go?” Pansy grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him towards her again. Her voice came out as a growl, rough and thick with emotion. 

“She left with Potter—”

Draco was cut off by the growing noise from outside the castle. It sounded like a deep rumbling, descending upon the grounds like an insurmountable wall. 

“It’s midnight.” Pansy surmised, trying to imagine what was coming for them. She could picture the darkness spreading through the castle, the curses being thrown, the walls crumbling beneath dark magic.

“Pansy, we need to go.” Draco turned with Pansy’s hand in his, already following Goyle’s retreating form. 

“I have to find her, Draco. If she’s here, she’s going to fight.” Pansy wrenched her hand out of Draco’s grip and stumbled back. Goyle turned to sneer at her, and she avoided the look of shock Draco reflected at her.

“Don’t be daft, Pansy. You think she’s going to want a Slytherin running after her? And what happens when you find her – going to fight with her, Pans? Going to fight against your own blood?” Goyle was closer now, his voice heaving with scorn. The smell of singed hair and burnt skin poured into her nostrils as he walked towards her. 

“Greg, shut the _fuck_ up. I need to find her.” Pansy heard the quiver in her voice and hoped she sounded surer than she felt. The dim light from the covered candles along the hallway shone bleakly across one side of Goyle’s face, casting half his jaw in darkness. Pansy realized she didn’t recognize him anymore, the threads of her friend having disappeared. 

Draco ignored the both of them and quietly enclosed Pansy into another hug. Goyle watched them with hardened eyes. Was he going to leave, Pansy wondered, or would he join to fight with the Dark Lord? Did it matter? She knew why they had followed Potter; she knew Crabbe had set the Fiendfyre on purpose. This wasn’t a game of intimidation anymore, this was war. 

“If you don’t come back, Pansy…” Draco let his words fade as he released Pansy and clutched at her hand. Pansy pressed a kiss to the side of his cheek and tasted ash in her mouth. She pulled her fingers from his as he stepped back. She couldn’t bear to look at Goyle again and didn’t turn to watch them leave as they retreated the way she had originally come. Pansy knew where she had to go now. She knew if she followed the sounds of the battle, she would find Hermione. 

No longer worried about being found, Pansy ran in the direction Draco said Hermione had gone. Pansy felt waves of panic hit her again knowing that Hermione was in the castle. She coughed as she ran, ash still lingering in her throat as she pushed on towards the noises of the battle. She knew she was close when the air thickened and she felt heat radiating from the stone beneath her, both from spells and attempts to breach its walls. 

“Gods.” Pansy inhaled, stopping short of collapsing stones that narrowly missed her. Giants, it had to be. She could hear their shouts more clearly now through the gaping hole in the hallway. Pansy forced herself to keep running, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She could make out figures in the distance, caught in a duel. Streams of green light flowed from their wands as they narrowly missed each other, the spells ricocheting off the stones and spotting the walls like open wounds. As she got closer, she recognized one of the faces. It looked like Yaxley. He had been a regular at her house at one point, always ushered into her father’s study before dinner where they sat behind closed doors for hours. He had a grin on his face, easily throwing out nonverbal spells. The shorter figure he was fighting against emerged from a cloud of smoke, and Pansy saw in an instant it was Flitwick. He was smeared in grime but his face was set in a determined scowl as he roared out spell after spell at Yaxley. Pansy dodged behind Yaxley before he turned towards her, shooting a binding spell at his feet over her shoulder as she sprinted past them. She sent up a silent prayer that it had given Flitwick enough of an opening to gain the upper hand. 

She moved like this for another few minutes, darting past duelling wizards and witches, their faces a blur behind great clouds of smoke and the roar of the battle becoming an echoing din in her ears. She deflected a number of spells that flew past her, some on accident, others not. Tears were coursing hot down her cheeks and made trails through the soot covering her face, the heavy and burning air forcing her eyes to continue to stream. Her wand was clutched so tightly in her hand she felt bruises forming under the buds of her fingers, her whole body hot yet coated in a growing cold sweat. Pansy pushed herself to keep moving, until she saw him. His black robes curling and billowing around his legs as he spat out a stream of curses. He wasn’t masked now, and the familiar features mirrored hers, though twisted and ugly. 

“Dad,” Pansy uttered. She tried to compel her feet to move towards him, but she remained planted. Her legs felt heavy. Following the direction of the spells her father was emitting, Pansy could make out the shape of two bodies, both leaping and dodging the oncoming spells and sending them back in return. She caught a mop of red hair, knew one was a Weasley. 

_"Confringo!"_ Pansy heard the other figure yell, and an inkling of recognition pierced through her. She heard her father throw up a quick shield charm and avoid the blast. Though edged with fear, she knew Hermione’s voice, knew the intonations of her tone, had heard it raised in anger before. She watched in horror as Weasley blocked a spell that flew at him from another direction, forcing him to turn and face another opponent, leaving Hermione alone against her father. 

Move. Move! Pansy screamed at her legs, forcing them to jolt into use again. Her father was gaining ground on Hermione quickly, pushing her back with the speed of his spells, her own shields beginning to falter. She was purely on the defensive now, and Pansy knew it was only a matter of time. 

She was close now, only a few feet from Hermione. In an attempt to buy herself time, she shot out a _Protego_ from her wand towards Hermione. It strengthened the shield around her and sent an oncoming curse ricocheting off the shield, its impact hitting Pansy in the side. Pansy gasped as a pinprick of pain bloomed along the side of her body, working from the point of impact up her torso like lashes of a whip. Her shirt felt wet from trickles of blood that began to ooze from the opening wounds. 

“Pansy!” She heard Hermione’s shriek and felt her father’s eyes slide towards her for the first time. She could feel hands on her now, Hermione’s hands. But she couldn’t pull her eyes from her father’s. Pansy saw the echoes of shock and betrayal filter through her father’s gaze. 

“Hermione, move!” Weasley’s shouted order came from beside them as Ron sent a disarming spell at Pansy’s father. He was joined by Lupin this time, and they both put distance between each other, attacking her father from opposite ends. 

_"Bombarda!"_ The spell came from Weasley’s wand, but her father deflected it quickly. His eyes were no longer on her but darting between Weasley and Lupin. 

“No, please.” Pansy hissed, trying to catch their attention. To stop them. If she could just get their attention, if she could just get them to stop. 

She pushed off from Hermione, and Hermione’s hand slipped off her arm with ease, now slick with blood. She stumbled towards her father, needing to protect him. If Weasley and Lupin could just stop, if she could just get to him. Pansy raised her wand and summoned every defensive spell she could remember, aiming them at Weasley and Lupin. She registered the shock on their faces as she turned her back to her father to face them. 

“Please!” She yelled, her wand releasing another _Expelliarmus_ after her _Protego_ faltered. She knew her father was close behind her, could smell the hints of home clinging to his robes. Sage. Cedarwood. Rose water, from her mother’s perfume. His own curses breezed past her and she heard the deep rumbling of his voice. And then, abruptly, his spells stopped. In the absence of his voice, only silence. Pansy collapsed to the ground under the weight of her father’s falling body, hurtling towards her as his bulk pinned her against the stones. She scrambled out from underneath him, clutching at his robes, desperate. 

Pansy stilled. Her body grew cold. Her father’s twisted features were caught in the last spell he was shouting. His eyes were blank, the last breath having escaped him. She hadn’t even seen the green light of the spell coming towards him, hadn’t had the chance to block it. Lupin had slipped behind them in a moment and directed the spell at her father’s back, catching him off guard and ending the battle between them. 

Blood pounded in Pansy’s ears, drowning out the noise around her. Tenderly, she gripped her father’s face between her palms. She kissed his forehead gently, smearing red across his skin. She closed his eyelids with her fingers. Wordlessly, she slipped his pocket watch out from inside his robes and roped the chain around her own neck. A Death Eater. Her father. She knew he had darkness in him, that he was capable of evil. Hate had stuck like a bone in his throat and choked out the goodness she knew had been beneath it. She had watched helplessly over the years as the hole of darkness in his heart spread and consumed him. She loved him, in spite of it. She loved her father. Pansy held him but her weeping refused to come. Broken open, her body swollen and draining, she clung to him. She hoped, desperately, that his last thought was of his daughter trying to save him. She hoped his eyes had lost the depths of betrayal she saw there earlier. 

“Pansy!” Hermione was near her again, tugging at her arm, dragging her away from her father’s body, onto her feet. Weasley was there too. He was suddenly in her face, shouting. She felt the specks of spit from his mouth rain down on her. 

“Parkinson, you almost fucking _killed_ us, are you mad?” 

Lupin pulled him back and sent him off in another direction, staring at Pansy for a moment before he too turned and joined another fight. 

“Pansy, can you fight? We need you. We need you, Pansy.” Hermione pleaded into her ear. She was splashed with blood. Her Muggle clothes looked ragged and torn. Pansy tried to steady herself against Hermione’s body. 

“Pansy, you need to choose. You need to choose a side, _now_, please.” Hermione was begging as her eyes desperately searched Pansy’s.

“I can’t fight.” Pansy voice was hoarse and low. She felt delirious from the loss of blood and the smell of death around her. She had chosen a side, she had chosen her father. Not his beliefs, not his prejudice and his hatred, but she had chosen her love for him, nonetheless. 

“Hermione, I can’t, please, I can’t. Come with me.” Her words tripped over each other as she tightened her grip on the front of Hermione’s jacket. Hermione shook her head in disbelief, pushing Pansy’s hands down as she backed away. The second look of betrayal. Hermione turned her back to Pansy and disappeared moments later. Pansy wished desperately that Hermione would stay, would let her explain. Let her see that she’d chosen her love for Hermione, too. 

Pansy swayed in place but managed to stay on her feet. She had to get out. Her body protested with every step she took, groaning under her own weight. She couldn’t apparate out of the school and wasn’t sure she would make it without splinching herself anyways. The only way was to get out of the school. So she ran. Past bodies lying around her, past the heaving carcasses of upturned giant spiders, their thick legs turned inwards towards themselves in a crumbled mass. She ran, fell, pushed herself back up, and ran until she was out on the grounds. Rain pelted softly against her face as she moved blindly, frantic in trying escape Hogwarts’ wards. 

She was in the Forbidden Forest. Decaying leaves were heavy under her feet as she moved, wet and covering the forest floor. Light from the moon filtered in feebly through the thick branches of the trees, casting long and distorted shadows. Pansy’s eyes struggled to see against the rain and sweat that dripped into her eyes and clouded her vision. Her hands were in front of her, blocking and pushing branches away from her face that clung to her hair and pulled, tearing her robe. 

She had loved this forest, found its very illicit nature alluring. On nights she couldn’t quell her thoughts, couldn’t stop the downpour of her fears, she escaped here. She knew its paths by heart, could trace the clearings in her mind, could remember the feel of knotgrass beneath her fingers. One of the ancient yew trees near the centre was beloved to her. Its crackling and mottled bark was a familiar feeling against her back over the years at school. Pansy had sought refuge under its branches and watched tiny glow worms gently flicker against it, feeling wrapped up and warm in the humming magic of the woods. 

But now, it seemed, the forest was against her. As she ran, Pansy’s foot caught against the root of a large oak tree that sent her careening towards the forest floor. Her head landed with a thud against another thick root, and the mouth of darkness swallowed her.

\- + -

"Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.  
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,  
like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world  
and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away."  
-Excerpt from _The Leaf and the Cloud_, Mary Oliver


	6. Wisteria

**The Forbidden Forest, 1998**

Pansy faded in and out gradually, bleary-eyed and sore, the light too biting. The gnarled branches of the oak tree rose above her and stretched towards the sunlight that filtered in between leaves like pinpricks. She tried to move her arm but felt her whole body groan in protest. Shifting slowly, she felt like she had been drained. Her head ached and throbbed with its own pulse, and stinging pain licked up her side when she forced herself to a half-seated position.

Bollocks. How long had she been here? Her hand blindly padded the forest floor until it closed around her wand, thankfully still in one piece. Pansy realized with a sickening jolt that she didn’t even know who had won the battle. Was Voldemort bringing the Ministry to its knees, or were Death Eaters being rounded up this very moment? It was hard to imagine either scenario as Pansy sat quietly amongst the budding moss and soft green of the woods. Birds chirped and sang in the trees around her, adding to the hum of the forest. Taking stock of herself, she gently ran her fingers over the fabric of her school blouse, its crisp white unrecognizable beneath the layers of grime, ash, and blood. She was too nervous to lift it and see her skin underneath, knowing her father’s spell had likely been laced with dark magic. The wine-red blood on her shirt had coagulated and felt sticky when she touched it, but she could see a patch that was still bright red, fed from a slow ooze on her side. Murmuring a quiet _Episkey_, the flow stilled but she could still feel the wound, defiant, refusing to close. 

Could she go back to Hogwarts? Risk not knowing which side had won? Pansy knew her presence might not be well received on either end. Not a Death Eater, not a great defender of light either. She had to get home. Had to see if her mother was still there, waiting for her. 

Pansy carefully lowered herself back down onto the forest floor then tried for a few moments to convince herself to get back up. She wanted, desperately, to close her eyes and let sleep overtake her. She could feel it blurring the edges of her vision and gently lulling her back into a haze. But the thought of home, of her mum… She held that image in her mind and fought to keep it centred. Home. Home. Pansy realized trying to apparate was beyond stupid in her current state, but Merlin knew what would happen if she stayed here. With a gasp, she pushed herself onto her knees, waited, then onto her feet. She pushed the thought of home to the forefront of her mind and held her breath for a second, feeling the familiar blackness and tightening around her as she spun with a crack and was gone. 

Pansy reappeared in the main hall of her family’s manor. She was hit immediately with a strong, acrid smell, like burning fabric. But the hall looked like she remembered it when she was home only a few weeks ago. Light poured in through the open windows, illuminating the collection of tapestries and paintings that lined the polished walls. She stumbled as she made her way past a number of family portraits. The faces that looked down on her moving figure murmured different things; some with words of concern, others with a warning, but all were decidedly quieter than usual. Pansy tried to rationalize this change but felt the fuzziness of her head push back any reasoning. She felt like her head had been stuffed with cotton as she walked, taking the large staircase to the second floor slowly, stair by stair, pausing to breathe, to hold her side and wait out the pain. The smell intensified as she climbed, and she felt an inkling of fear return. 

Turning into the first drawing room, Pansy found the source of the smell. The massive emerald green curtains that hung alongside the front window had been set alight. They smoldered now, scorched halfway up and streaking the fabric with great swatches of black. Smoke billowed out the windows which had been left open. And beneath them, the figure of her mother, splayed out on the wooden floor. Pansy lurched towards her and lowered herself beside the still body. No wounds, no blood, just emptiness. The Killing Curse. Her mother had the same glassy look as her father had, though her face was caught in a look of surprise. Pansy stroked the arm of her mother’s robe, her favourite soft velvet in the darkest of blues. She gently unclasped the silver chain with a green gem embedded into it from her mother’s neck and gingerly added it to her pocket, hearing it softly clink against her father’s pocket watch. 

Violet, her gentle mum – who instilled in Pansy her love of gardening, of kneeling for hours in the soft spring dirt and ending the day with nails rimmed in mud. She had created for Pansy a nest within their home, nurturing her, protecting her. But she was also a woman made evil by her complacency, by her willingness to turn her head, to ignore what was going on in her own home. Pansy felt herself gather the velvet of her mother’s robe into her fist as she wept, bitterly. She knew who won the war then, knew that this was an act of retribution. A life for a life. And how many lives had her father taken? She felt anger rise in her like a cadence, fueled by her anger at her parents’ choice, ebbed by the cold knowledge of their deaths. 

Pansy waited like that, for what felt like hours, clutching at the last of her mother. She gathered her close and breathed in the smell of her hair, a few shades softer and lighter than her own. Gently, she laid her body back down, arranged her neatly, and said a quiet prayer—a soft incantation—over her. She murmured that she loved her, that she’d return, that she’d get a proper burial, she promised. 

Once she finished, Pansy reached out the tendrils of her mind and latched onto an image of Malfoy Manor. She had to get to Draco. She didn’t know if he had survived, fought, or fled. Gritting her teeth and wrapping her arms tightly around herself, as if to hold the pain at bay, she apparated with a crack. Caught between the blackness again, she felt herself smack into a solid wall, then spin back into the living room of her own home. She had been denied entry. New wards were up, different from the ones usually present over Malfoy Manor. The Ministry must have raided the Malfoy home and blocked entry. Pansy groaned, knowing that didn’t bode well for Draco. 

Feeling desperate and out of options, knowing she had precious moments of clarity left before she too slipped away, Pansy channeled her energy and apparated one last time. With a final exhale, Pansy collapsed onto the glaring white floor of St. Mungo’s. 

\- + -

Pansy woke to the smell of lemons. She was surrounded by soft cotton sheets and cushions. Her body lay nestled amongst the pillows, one tucked under her head, one under her knees, a few on each side. The blurry walls of St. Mungo’s came into shape as she took in the small but private room she was in, dark but for a window that let in the remnants of moonlight. There was a small vase of dahlias on the little bedtable beside her. 

“Are you awake?” A tentative voice came from the lone chair in the corner. Pansy peered closer.

“Hermione?” 

Hermione jumped from the chair and shuffled over to Pansy, her hands stretched out and already grasping for Pansy’s.

“Darling,” Hermione sighed faintly, as Pansy felt fat teardrops splash against her hand. Hermione had her hand pressed to her cheek, having released her grip slightly.

“I didn’t know how hurt you were, I—I heard, at the Ministry, someone mentioned you had showed up at St. Mungo’s a few days ago.” 

Pansy freed her hand from Hermione’s and gently stroked it through Hermione’s curls. The breath she had been holding slowly released, as Pansy relaxed into the feel of Hermione near her again. 

“I’ve missed you.” She murmured, subdued. The moments she had been able to steal with Hermione while she was on the run were short, few and far between. Their kisses had been frantic, knowing time was short and could be cut off at any second. They had whispered updates back and forth, made promises to each other, held on tightly. In those moments, Pansy had tried to commit to memory every aspect of Hermione’s face. She had stared at her freckles, trying to map each one in her mind, had kissed the tip of her nose and memorized its feel, tried to capture the soft curve of her cheek, the dark and beautiful sheen of her skin. 

And now, facing her, she looked ethereal. Gone was the wildness to her eyes during the battle, the pitch in her voice. She was all lightness now. 

“I missed you too.” Hermione returned, bowing her head. 

“Are you hurt?” Pansy questioned. 

“Me? No, no, I’m fine. Everything was minor, the Healers were done with me in a minute.” Hermione looked nervous now, a glint of anxiety pooling into her eyes.

“Well, how do I look then? A bit shit?” Sighing, Pansy gestured to herself. She kept her tone light, hoping the damage was minimal.

Hermione pushed her hands through her hair and avoided Pansy’s eyes for a few beats. She drew a deep breath in.

“The Healers said you were going to be okay. The curse that hit you, they had never seen it before. They said it had likely been a creation of Voldemort himself. Not necessarily designed to kill on impact, but to severely maim, and if left, to lead to death.” 

“You spoke with them?”

“No, I—I read your file, actually.” 

Hermione’s voice was low and Pansy strained to hear her. She found herself unsurprised that her father would use such a curse, though undoubtedly not knowingly on his own daughter. Suddenly, Pansy pushed the edge of the covers down around her and moved to lift the hospital shirt she was in, overcome with the need to see the impact of the curse.

“No—” Hermione’s hand darted out to stop her, but Pansy waved her off and strained her neck to look at her torso. A great muddied wound stared back at her, the same place she had been unable to staunch the blood. From it, winding up and wrapping her torso, were deep and ugly red gashes. The thick, rope-like wounds looked like whips had tangled upon her skin and embedded themselves there. They had crusted over now, her body and the Healers working to fill the gaps, knitting the skin back together. Pansy felt a wash of revulsion through her body, coating her tongue. Her eyes lurched up to Hermione’s, knowing she was looking to.

Hermione bent down and ghosted her lips against Pansy’s sternum, against the gentle hollow between her breasts, near the edge of the last gash. 

“Still beautiful, love.” Hermione gently took the edge of Pansy’s shirt from her hands and laid it back down, pulling the blanket back over her and tucking it against her sides. 

Pansy smiled weakly at her and caught Hermione’s chin when she looked up, trying to pull her nearer. Hermione closed the distance between them and let Pansy guide her into a soft kiss. Pansy sighed into her mouth, feeling the anxiety and dread of the week’s events melt between them. Hungry, Pansy deepened the kiss, her tongue pressing into Hermione’s mouth, searching. She felt Hermione’s lips curl into a smile as she pressed into her. A tightness in Pansy’s chest started to squeeze, remembering the feel of Hermione’s mouth on hers felt like home, desperate to keep her close. 

Hermione finally pulled back despite Pansy’s protests, watching her closely. 

“How long have I been here?” Pansy asked, letting her breaths steady.

“Four days. The Healers put you in an induced coma once you came here. They didn’t want you waking up during some of the more intense healing spells. I read that they released the spell this afternoon and were waiting for you to wake up naturally.” 

Pansy could see the concern in Hermione’s eyes, could sense now that Hermione’s gaze was sweeping over her body warily. 

“Has…anyone else come to visit?” Her voice came out like a rasp, and she mentally kicked herself for sounding so frail.

“No, just me.” Hermione’s voice was a murmur now, edged with guilt. 

“What’s happening to them, then?” Pansy exhaled. 

“Pansy,” Hermione drew a deep breath, carefully arranging her features in a way Pansy had come to recognize was her prelude before she delivered unpleasant news.

“The Malfoys are currently awaiting trial, all of them. It’s likely that Narcissa and Draco will receive some sort of reprieve. Nott and Zabini are being held at the DMLE and being questioned, but I heard they’ll likely be released in the next few days as well. Nothing conclusive on them.” 

Hermione watched Pansy closely as she delivered the news but Pansy only nodded stiffly. 

“And what about you?” Pansy looked up at Hermione, her voice low. “Have you visited during the daytime? Or just at night, when no one’s here?” She quipped, suddenly wary that they were sitting in darkness. 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, gnawing at the edge of her bottom lip. 

“You know that no one really knows…about us. Things are rather fragile right now, the Ministry is only just starting to get on its feet, the dust is really still settling after the battle. And The Daily Prophet has been going absolutely mad with printing what happened, they’ve printed names…”

“My father is in there, then.” Pansy surmised, slowly piecing together what Hermione was side-stepping around.

“Yes, he is.”

“And you don’t want anyone knowing that you’re involved with a Death Eater’s daughter.” Pansy let the statement hang between them. 

“Pansy, it’s not just that. Harry and Ron knew we were seeing each other, a little, but, after the battle, Ron—he, well he thought you were fighting against us.” Red spread on Hermione’s cheeks as she glanced down.

Pansy’s temper flared. Of course bloody Weasley thought he knew exactly what happened.

“And you let him think that? I was just trying to stop them from firing at my dad! I was trying to protect you!” Pansy struggled to sit up in bed, and Hermione scrambled to gently push her back down, instead propping another pillow under her head.

“I know, darling, I know.” Hermione clucked her tongue, trying to calm Pansy before she caused herself any damage.

Pansy tried to push Hermione away, hating the way Hermione was trying to end the conversation before it even got off the ground.

“But you don’t know,” Pansy interjected, “Did you not tell Ron? Didn’t you explain to him?”

“Pansy,” Hermione groaned, exasperated. “It’s not that easy! He saw what he saw. Yes, I tried explaining, but there’s still a lot of confusion and anger. We just barely won, you know.” Hermione’s eyes were aflame now, and she drew herself up. 

Pansy felt herself wither under Hermione’s glare, felt the heat slowly drain from her. She was exhausted. Exhausted from being on edge, from fighting. 

“They killed my mum, you know.” The words escaped her mouth like a whisper. Hermione leaned closer to her, hesitant.

“The…Death Eaters?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think…I think someone came for her, just after the battle. She was already gone.” 

Hermione gripped Pansy’s hand tighter, covering it with her own. She held tightly and was quiet for a moment, letting Pansy leak slow tears that followed the dip and curve near her ear, dripping past her chin. 

“Hermione, I won’t hide our relationship. I won’t hide us anymore. I can’t carry the burden of my parents’ choices, I can’t.” 

Pansy watched as wetness gathered in the creases of Hermione’s eyes at her words and slicked her cheeks.

“Just for a little while longer.” Hermione murmured her promise, wiping the corners of her eyes with the edge of her soft sweater before wiping Pansy’s as well. 

“Please, Pansy, just a few more months, then we can be together. No secrets, no hiding. I swear.”

Though bitterness hung like a tang in her mouth, Pansy agreed. They had hidden their growing relationship while at Hogwarts well, only allowing both their inner circles to know glimpses of what was going on. No one outside of Harry, Ron, Draco, Blaise, and Theo had any idea the two of them were anything other than disinterested classmates, caught on opposite sides of the war. Pansy had confided the depths of their relationship—their feelings for one another—to Theo alone, though it was evident Hermione had told no one. Pansy had always assumed that after they were out of school, they would be together freely. But then the war happened, and the brief moments they shared were just enough to edge them on, reminding them of their love, remembering themselves within each other’s embrace. 

“Okay, love.” Pansy wound her fingers between Hermione’s. She knew, despite how much she disliked hiding their relationship, that she would do anything for her. 

“Stay a little longer though, please. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”

Hermione let a sad smile curve her lips as she squeezed Pansy’s hand, agreeing to stay. She began a few months back, the last time they had seen each other, and slowly started to fill Pansy in on the events leading up the battle, and then the battle itself. Near the end, Hermione watched as Pansy’s eyes fluttered close, occasionally making a soft noise to confirm she was still listening. Hermione waited till Pansy’s chest rose and fell steadily in sleep before she leaned in and kissed her forehead tenderly and disapparated from the hospital room. 

\- + -

"My mother  
was the blue wisteria,  
my mother  
was the mossy stream out behind the house,  
my mother, alas, alas,  
did not always love her life,  
heavier than iron it was  
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,  
oh, unforgettable!

I bury her  
in a box  
in the earth  
and turn away.  
My father  
was a demon of frustrated dreams,  
was a breaker of trust,  
was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.  
He followed God, there being no one else  
he could talk to;  
he swaggered before God, there being no one else  
who would listen.  
Listen,  
this was his life.  
I bury it in the earth.  
I sweep the closets.  
I leave the house.

I mention them now,  
I will not mention them again.

It is not lack of love  
nor lack of sorrow.  
But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.”

-Mary Oliver, _Flare_


	7. Nightshade

**October 1998**

Pansy felt the wards around her flat stretch as someone apparated in. She was tucked into the corner of her sofa, eating a bowl of leftovers while the soft clink of self-washing dishes could be heard from her sink. She watched as Theo spun into the room and she grinned at him, glad for his company.

“Hi T, I didn’t know you were coming.” She stood up, stretching her legs and padding over to him.

“Do you want some dinner? I can make you something quick.” Pansy questioned him as she closed Theo in a tight hug, his tall frame bending slightly to return her embrace.

“Hey Pans, sorry to just show up on you. I just wanted to check in and see how you were.” Theo squeezed her arm and Pansy patted his back reassuringly, thankful he had come. The past year had been hard on him as well, Pansy knew. It showed in the tired bags under his eyes, the way he hunched his shoulders inwards, the shagginess that had taken over his hair. Pansy brushed a few strands from his eyes and smiled. She was, above all, thankful for his friendship. He had felt like a brother to her for so many years now, and she felt guilty at times that she couldn’t do more to lighten his burdens. Afterall, he had lost someone in the war too. 

“Here, put your bag down, sit with me.” Pansy pulled him onto the couch with her and Theo collapsed beside her, comfortable in his faded and fraying jeans. 

“You look good, T, it’s been a few weeks.” She murmured, watching him carefully, trying not to mother him but desperately wanting to find out where he had been, what he had been up to, if he was eating. 

“Oh, don’t lie to me, Pans, I know I look rubbish. You’re too good to me.” He leaned over and ruffled her hair, ignoring her annoyed noise as she pushed her hair back from her face. 

“Am not,” Pansy grumbled, unable to hide the affection in her voice. 

“How are you though, Theo, really? Are you still being followed?”

Theo shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.

“I haven’t been followed closely for about three weeks now, seems like the Aurors finally decided they were wasting their time.” 

“It’s barbaric,” Pansy huffed, “the DMLE couldn’t even hold you longer than a week, they had nothing on you.”

“Guilty by association, Pans. You know as well as I do. The Ministry is out for blood, and we’re easy targets.” Theo sighed and stretched his arms above him, shaking off his exhaustion. He glanced around the flat, trying to mask his concern at the dim lighting, the sparse furniture, the smell of staleness in the air. 

“How about you then, still getting followed?”

“No,” Pansy shook her head, gesturing around the room, “I think I’d have to actually leave my flat more than once a week for that. I haven’t seen an Auror in weeks.”

“Yeah.” Theo muttered, reaching out to grab her hand softly. “I’m a little worried about you, Pans. Draco said you lock yourself up in here, Blaise hasn’t heard from you in months, neither has Milli.” His voice was quiet, and he spoke low, soothingly.

“I’m fine, T, I’m managing. What do they expect me to do, wander into Diagon Alley and receive friendly treatment? Those who knew my father know who I am, and they knew yours too. It’s you who I’m worried about.” An edge crept into Pansy’s tone as she spoke increasingly faster, her paranoia close to the surface.

“I know, Pans, I know. I’m being careful.” Theo rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand in a circular motion. 

“I go into Muggle London, sometimes.” Pansy admitted, her eyes on her lap. She worried the edge of her long sweater that hung off of her in folds. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for the shops mainly. I don’t get noticed, I’m just a face there.” She shrugged.

“I get that,” Theo replied, “Do you still see Hermione?”

Pansy nodded, already having told Theo about their relationship. Hermione visited her often, apparating straight into her flat so the Aurors lurking nearby never knew about her presence and the press didn’t get wind of them. 

“Yeah, I do.” She answered before catching his gaze. Theo smiled at her but there was sympathy in his soft eyes. They traded a few more questions back and forth before falling silent, letting the quietness of night surround them. Finally, Theo spoke.

“Do you really plan on staying in this flat for much longer, Pans? This just doesn’t seem…” He trailed off, but Pansy knew what he wanted to say. That it didn’t seem overly safe, nor healthy, for her to continue spending weeks on end trapped in a space that resembled a tomb.

“No, at least I hope not. Have you…have you ever thought about disappearing, T?” Pansy was watching him now, her eyes sharp.

“Disappearing how exactly?” His voice was careful, his words drawn out.

“Into the Muggle world, maybe. Close your eyes, pick a city on the globe, start all over again? Would you go with me?”

Theo hummed as he considered her words. She could tell by the way he glanced at her that her question made him nervous.

“Pans, this is still our home. Here. We can’t let ourselves be cowed by the Ministry; we did nothing wrong. We have to re-build our lives at the centre of it all and show them that we belong here just as much as they do.” Theo’s grip on her hand tightened as he did his best to convince her.

“I know,” she squeezed his hand back, “it’s just nice to think about sometimes.” 

“Pans…” Theo began, carefully, “do you get the Daily Prophet delivered to you?”

“No, why?” Pansy tilted her head at him, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t registered her new address officially. The Aurors knew already, of course, but it meant she avoided most post and any owls had trouble finding her. Not only was she not interested in every new article the Prophet churned out weekly about crushing darkness under their thumb, she couldn’t bear to read about the aftermath. The lives lost, on both sides. 

Theo slowly reached for his bag and began pulling out a rolled-up paper.

“I brought today’s paper for you, I thought you might want to see it.” 

Pansy reached out and took the black and white paper from Theo’s hands. She unfurled it, shaking it straight and holding it in front of her to get a better look. There, on the front page, was a picture of Hermione, Weasley, and Potter, with the backdrop of the Ministry behind them. Kingsley was beside them at the podium, speaking to a gathering of reporters. Flashes of white shone against their serious faces as they put on united front. Pansy’s eyes caught the headline.

_MINISTER CONFIRMS MOST DEATH EATERS CAPTURED/DEAD. THE GOLDEN TRIO SAYS THEY WILL NOT STOP THEIR SEARCH FOR THOSE LEFT. _

The growing knot in Pansy’s stomach tightened. She could feel the intensity of Theo’s eyes on her. She looked closely at the image of Hermione. Her Hermione. She was dressed somberly in dark robes, her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, hands crossed in front of her. Pansy kept reading, her eyes skipping over lines in the article as she went.

_Yesterday, at a press conference given at the Ministry, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt confirmed that almost all known Death Eaters have been now been captured or confirmed dead. Many are awaiting trial in front of the Wizengamot for their crimes, while others rot in Azkaban…. Still, the Wizarding public are concerned about dark underground activity, citing incidents of retribution for the destruction of You-Know-Who…. The Golden Trio spoke alongside the Minister, promising the public they were working closely with the Ministry at this time….. War hero Hermione Granger was quoted as saying, “We promise that we’re working hard to root out all known evil in the Wizarding World.” When asked by a reporter if this meant investigating the relatives of known Death Eaters, Granger confirmed. “Yes, unequivocally. Every person with known Death Eater connections or relations is being treated as a potential threat and is being thoroughly investigated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We can never be too careful, and we must show that those who slipped through the cracks will be found out.” When pressed as to what this meant, the Minister mentioned… _

Pansy’s head snapped up and she met Theo’s eyes, riddled with worry. The edges of her vision had darkened, and she drew in long and slow breaths through her nose. 

“Theo…” Her voice came out strangled, twisted with confusion. 

“I wanted you to see for yourself.” He whispered, quietly taking the paper from her hands and folding it on the small table by the sofa. 

“But Pans, I don’t think she meant to hurt you, I don’t think she realized—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Pansy interjected, silencing him with the fierceness in her voice. 

“We’re rotten to them, Theo. We’re poisoned by our very families, made irredeemable. Criminals in the making.” She sounded incredulous, the reality that she kept at bay suddenly crashing upon her in waves. 

“And nothing I bloody do, no matter how much I love her, nothing will ever make her see me as her equal. I’ll always be a foul secret for her. She—she _convinced_ me, Theo, that we were almost done hiding. But I get it now,” Pansy laughed, shaking Theo’s hand from hers. She stood and paced in front of the sofa, hands in her hair, the wrinkled fabric of her shirt hanging from her frame. 

“I get it, Theo. _Nothing_ I do will change who I am to her, what I represent; _nothing_ will make her change her mind. And I still love her, damn her.” Pansy angrily wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over, sick of crying, sick of feeling angry. 

“I’m sorry.” Theo murmured, gathering Pansy close despite her protests into a soft hug. Pansy felt her body go limp in Theo’s arms, numbness taking over. She knew what she had to do.

“Theo,” she began after many moments spent in silence.

“Yes, little Pans?” Theo rubbed her back softly, his chin resting on her head.

“Tell Draco, Blaise, and Milli that I love them. I’m going to get away for a little while, but I’ll be back, I promise. Don’t—” she spoke over Theo who began to sound alarmed, “don’t ask questions, please. I don’t know where I’m going yet. Just for a little while though, okay? I love you. I’ll come back. I swear.” Pansy felt herself begin to ramble, egged on by her own confusion and uncertainty. 

“I’ll leave a note in a few days where I’ve gone, it’ll be quick.”

Theo held her tighter, knowing she was already slipping away from him.

“Don’t disappear on me, you hear me Pansy?” Tears slid from Theo’s eyes and fell without sound on Pansy’s shoulders. 

The idea of leaving them, leaving all of them, terrified her. Fear gripped solidly around her heart as she swallowed back her tears and nodded. 

“I won’t Theo, I swear.”

After many more reassurances from Pansy, Theo finally left her alone. Streetlights shone hazily though the windows, casting long shadows against the walls. Pansy drew all the curtains tightly closed, imagining a hidden Auror peering up at her from below. The Prophet still lay on her table, crumbled but taunting her. Slowly, Pansy summoned a small luggage case from under her unmade bed. It skittered to a halt by her feet as she opened the creaking doors of the closet and began dropping her clothes into it, casting a quick undetectable extension charm as her items began to pile up. Finally, she pulled out two clean sheets of parchment and a quill. On the first, she wrote her note to Theo, letting him know that she was going to make her way to New York. She knew one of her mother’s old friends still lived there and might be willing to take her in while she figured things out. 

On the second, she wrote Hermione’s name on one side, knowing instinctively that Theo would leave it here for Hermione to find. She wrote, hands shaking, _I'm setting you free. Don’t try and find me, don’t try and contact me._ Her hand hovered over the letter, her fingers itching to write all of what she still felt. To tell her that she loved her, despite all of this. That all she had ever wanted was to love Hermione openly, to love her wholly with all she had. That she understood, underneath all her anger, why Hermione had to say what she said. That she knew they were both playing roles they couldn’t escape. That she was, above all, sorry. She dropped the quill, unable to write. She wondered if she would regret her silence but pushed the thought violently from her head. 

An hour later, Pansy stood in the middle of her flat, surveying her dark surroundings. The two letters were arranged on the table, the one for Theo full of words of love, instructing him to show her friends the letter, to pass on her love, to tell them she was sorry she had to leave. The one for Hermione lay flat over the Prophet, knowing it left enough explanation, hoping she would feel some of the pain Pansy had felt. 

Pansy sighed and pocketed the Muggle money she had managed to convert a few weeks ago and fake passport, enough to get her to New York by Muggle travel. She hated the idea of flying by plane but knew the Aurors couldn’t track her that way, making it harder for Hermione to find her. 

Quietly, she clicked her mother’s necklace around her neck and enlarged the chain on her father’s pocket watch, slipping it over her head and layering it against her mother’s. She knew they were still with her, in their own way. She knew they would guide her as she moved forward, propelled by their love, their regrets, their downfalls. 

Luggage in hand, Pansy apparated to darkened street blocks away from her flat, quickly making her way under the cover of night to the closest Underground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we catch up with present day


	8. Hawthorn

**2007**

The week passed by without incident. Pansy and Hermione fell into a routine together at the office. They both came in early and worked quietly for a few hours, Hermione would ask a question or two, the silence would fall between them again. Percy popped his head around his door often to ensure Pansy was filled in on the trial updates, and the two of them would go over Hermione’s testimony for Friday and plan out her movements. At least once a day, Blaise or Harry stopped by with new security details and questions for the two of them. 

Despite their planning, Pansy felt the week slide and lose shape around her. The uneasy truce that remained between her and Hermione felt tenuous at best. The days were long and filled with stretching hours of meetings and paperwork, punctuated by sharp moments of tension and anxiety. Pages of parchment blurred before Pansy’s eyes before she would snap back to attention, the noise of Hermione’s soft sigh across the room causing a sharp aching in her chest. 

And they continued. The moments, that is. At least Pansy felt they did. Hermione’s hand brushing past hers as she pointed to a page, her murmurs of thanks when Pansy helped her with a testimony detail, the look they shared when Pansy glanced up and found Hermione staring back at her, the way Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth seconds after. 

Pansy left the office late those four nights before the trial, stumbling back to Malfoy Manor through the floo. She’d collapse in bed for hours before ending up in the thick of the garden, surrounded by a blanket of darkness and the scent of roses heavy in the air. 

\- + -

On Thursday night, Draco joined her. His hand hovered over her shoulder, light. 

“Pans?” Draco cast a warming charm around them before settling beside Pansy on the grass. His voice was tired, caught between sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Pansy pulled his hand into her lap, holding it gently. 

“Veter told me.” Draco stifled his yawn and squeezed her hand in return. His hair was ruffled across his forehead and his bare feet sunk into the grass, the hem of his pajama bottoms damp with dew.

Pansy chuckled and shook her head.

“Of course he did. I’m alright though, you don’t have to be out here.”

“I want to. You’ve had a rough go lately, thought you might need the company.” Draco shrugged and followed Pansy’s gaze out to the depths of the garden.

Long moments passed like that, Pansy with her legs tucked under her, Draco’s hand in her lap. 

“Draco?”

Draco hummed a response, lulled into silence.

“I think I’m ready to find my own place.”

Draco half sat up, his eyes wary. 

“Pansy, you don’t have to move out. If this is about us—”

“It’s not, it’s not. I just feel like…maybe it’s time to sort out where home is. Figure out where I want to be.” Pansy tried to quell his concern, knowing she was making the right decision.

“Okay Pans, you know the Manor is always open to you. This is your home too.” Draco watched her closely, shaken from his tiredness.

“I know. And it’ll always be home in its own way. But I think I’m ready to take control of where I’m going. I feel like I’ve been drifting these past few months. Being here, the…thing between us, seeing everyone. It’s brought up a lot of pain. Pain I thought I had dealt with.”

Draco nodded and waited a few moments before responding.

“I’ll miss fucking you.” Draco sighed.

Pansy threw her head back and laughed, punching him in the side of the arm.

“You’re truly a tosser, Draco. I’ll miss you too, and you’re still one of my best mates you know. I’ll still come to regular pub nights; I’m not exactly disappearing again.” 

“True,” Draco exhaled slowly, “and you know Veter will make you give him access to wherever you end up. Where are you thinking of going, by the way?”

Pansy shrugged and shifted her weight so her legs were stretched out in front of her.

“When I left, I never sold my mum’s property, a cottage she lived in before she married dad. It’s an hour out of the city and I’ve been paying a management company to keep it clean for a while. Thought it might be nice to be there, maybe feel like she’s closer to me.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Pans. You deserve some peace.” Draco patted her knee and stood to his feet slowly, reaching a hand down and grasping Pansy’s tightly before pulling her up. 

“Big trial tomorrow, isn’t it? You should at least pretend to sleep.”

Pansy agreed as Draco led them back through the quiet garden, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm.

\- + -

Pansy pushed open the door to Hermione’s office, the trial having loomed over her all Friday morning. She had, as Draco predicted, slept little. But she was thankful that she was back in Aurors’ robes that day, her wand holster snug against her thigh and fitted into the fabric of her trousers. 

Hermione and Percy were hovering over Hermione’s desk as Pansy nodded her greeting to them. 

“Oh, good morning.” Hermione glanced up at Pansy with wide eyes. Her curls were pulled back into a wide braid that hung over her shoulder and she was dressed in dark formal robes for the trial. Pansy caught her appraising look and decided to tuck away the memory so she could analyze it later. 

“Morning, Parkinson.” Percy muttered in her direction, his hands fidgeting with his own robes. 

“Morning Weasley, looking shrill as always.” Pansy grinned.

Percy rolled his eyes in her direction and was about to bite back his response when the office door swung open again, Harry on the other side.

“Morning all. Hermione, are you almost ready? We’re hoping to start soon.” 

The mood in the room instantly shifted. Pansy watched as Hermione’s shoulders rolled back in an attempt to shake off the tension that had built in her muscles. Pansy’s own hand twitched in response, wanting to reach out. Wanting, against her better judgement, to close her hand around Hermione’s. To press a kiss against the knot in her forehead, smooth down the escaped curls at the nape of her neck, hold her close to her chest for a moment. The ache returned with a dull intensity and Pansy fought to push it down.

Hermione squared her shoulders and nodded at Harry, stepping towards him.

“I’m ready.”

\- + -

Pansy had never been to an actual trial at the Wizengamot before. She had been taken down during the week while it was empty to get a sense of the room and ensure she knew its security features and exits, but it looked different now. Where the empty wooden pews that rose high into the room had been empty, now they were filled with rows of wizards in black robes, their faces peering down at the podium at the centre. Hermione sat off to the side in a lower pew, flanked by Percy and Pansy. Pansy caught the curious eyes of a few members, some looking in interest, others with veiled distaste at her presence. Pansy stared back openly, meeting their gazes until they turned away. 

Moments later, silence fell over the room as Shacklebolt brought the trial to order as the head of the Wizengamot, reading out the case before the court and outlining the order of witnesses. Hermione was last. Pansy had known this beforehand, but it still made her uneasy. She wanted Hermione out of the room as soon as possible, and this only delayed her presence in the room. 

After Shacklebolt finished his opening words, the doors to the court opened and Robards was brought in. His hands were magically tied and he was being led by four Aurors, Harry one of them. They sat him to the right of the court, on the opposite side as Hermione. Pansy followed his movements carefully, taking in the way he seemed to twitch every few seconds, the neat trim of his beard, the fierceness in his eyes. He sat quietly as the charges against him were read and the first few witnesses called. He had an eerie calm about him, and he radiated an air of bored disdain. Pansy noticed he barely even looked at the first four witnesses called, choosing instead to keep his eyes on the tiles in front of him, only occasionally lifting his eyes when Shacklebolt pressed a witness for more information. 

Pansy carefully scanned the faces in the room as the trial went on, her eyes flicking back and forth between Robards and those fanning out around them. 

“The Wizengamot now calls Undersecretary Hermione Granger to testify.”

Shacklebolt’s booming voice filled the room and Pansy quickly stood as Hermione did, following her to the podium in the centre of the room. Robards eyes followed Hermione’s movements closely, no longer trained to the ground. Hermione lowered herself onto the chair at the centre of the room and Pansy stood off to the side, putting herself between them. While Harry had expected the trial to go seamlessly, he still suggested Pansy accompany Hermione during her testimony.

“Undersecretary Granger,” Shacklebolt began, “to establish our timeline, can you confirm that it was while you worked under the direction of former Head Auror Gawain Robards from 1999 to 2001 that you first became suspicious of his activities?”

“Yes, Minister Shacklebolt. Those dates are correct.” Hermione’s voice rang clearly into the silence. She looked strong, Pansy thought. The tension and anxiety of the morning had shifted into a sense of resolve. 

“And can you confirm, Undersecretary Granger, that while you worked for Robards during this time, you uncovered what you then deemed to be incriminating information about his contact with former Death Eaters, then in hiding?”

“Yes, that’s correct Minister. I was working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to address pro-pure-blood laws when I uncovered what I suspected to be an ongoing line of communication between then Head Auror Robards and known Death Eaters who had evaded capture after the Battle of Hogwarts.”

While Hermione continued to answer the Minister’s questions, Pansy watched Robards. His mouth had pressed into a tight line as he listened. 

“Thank you, Undersecretary. Turning to a case you worked on early in 1999—”

Pansy tuned out Shacklebolt’s voice for a moment as she slowly tilted her head to the side. She felt a prickling of trepidation on the back of her neck. The corner of Robards lip had warped into a smile, and he was watching Hermione with a look of near delight. Movements in the room seemed to slow around her as Pansy whipped her head towards the doors of the Wizengamot the moment they flew open, darkness descending in the room as shapeless forms pushed into the court room. Hooded, dark-robed, masked. 

Pansy moved out of instinct as cries began to erupt around her. She closed her hand around Hermione’s wrist and pulled her off the podium, catching her body between her arms and urging her towards the pews.

The cries turned into shouts. Light burst forth from the wands of a number of Wizengamot members as others shouted counter-curses and shields. The Death Eaters had the benefit of surprise on their side, urged on by the chaos their presence had brought. Pansy didn’t catch how many of them had infiltrated the court, but it was easily over a dozen as they spread out and sent streams of disorder from their wands.

Pansy coughed against the thick smoke that filled the room, adding to the confusion. She clutched her wand tightly in one hand and forced Hermione forward with the other, away from the main doors and to a back exit she had noticed when she was there the day before. 

“Left, Hermione, to the left, that’s it.” Pansy murmured lines of soft encouragement as they slowly pushed their way through the scramble of the crowd. 

The neared the exit moments later and Pansy felt adrenaline course through her in waves. She had to get Hermione out. 

A red curse flew past her ear and Pansy jolted to the side, twisting her head to locate where it had come from. Two masked Death Eaters strode towards them, wands outstretched and pointing squarely at Hermione. 

Pansy nearly staggered at the sight, intense moments of clarity from ten years earlier filling her vision as she fought to stay in the present. Cries, smoke, the smell of burning, dark robes, silver masks that glinted with the light from shouted curses. Bile rose in her throat as Pansy wrestled between sharp seconds where she was eighteen again, desperately caught between worlds, and her current reality. 

Pansy grounded herself with the feel of Hermione’s arm under her grip, as she shoved Hermione behind her body and backed them away from the oncoming men, wordlessly forming protection shields around them before sending torrents of curses in their direction. 

Hermione hadn’t stayed silent in the moments that passed, Pansy could feel pulses of magic coming from behind her radiating out. And then, the pulses stopped. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath of air, as Pansy turned and watched in dread as Hermione slumped against the wall behind her, a curse sent from behind them catching her in the back of the ribs. 

Desperation crushed against Pansy’s chest as she moved to cover Hermione fully, shouting urgently over her shoulder without turning her back on the room.

“Hermione, love, use a stasis charm. Stay with me. Stop the blood. Please.”

Pansy faced the oncoming men and sent curse after curse towards them, catching one off-guard and sending him sprawling against the tile. His mask cracked on the hard stone and skidded across the room but Pansy refused to look at his face, finding herself wholly unable to look, to see. 

Someone had joined her from the right and fought off the other Death Eater by driving him back, giving her a moment to breathe. She took a second to survey the room and watched as Shacklebolt, Harry, and at least ten other Wizengamot members finally succeeded in forcing the remaining Death Eaters into a tight circle at the centre of the room. 

Turning back to Hermione, Pansy reached down and lifted her onto her feet, Hermione’s body collapsing against Pansy without effort. 

“I’ve got you, love, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Pansy breathed against Hermione’s ear, unsure if she was still conscious, as she held her weight tight to her chest and almost dragged Hermione through the exit.

There was already a storm of activity in the hallway that the two emerged from, as what appeared to be the entirely of the DMLE circled towards the Wizengamot with wands drawn. Pansy held Hermione close and waved down the closest person to them. 

“Help! We need help!”

Relief flooded her as nurses emerged from the other end of the hallway, joining the chaos. 

Pansy sunk to her knees, gently holding Hermione against her. She felt along her side and realized Hermione had managed to stop the flow of blood. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her in waves lapsed into slow jolts as she cupped her cheek lightly and reveled in the warmth of Hermione’s skin against hers.

Nurses circled around them then, and Pansy held on for just a second longer. Hermione’s breaths came out in shallow drags as the nurses lifted her from Pansy’s hold. Hermione elicited a small groan of pain in response, her eyes flickering open briefly. Pansy lurched forward but stopped herself from reaching out.

Hermione’s lip quirked into a dazed smile as her eyes found Pansy, her hand grazing the top of Pansy’s head as the nurses lifted her. 

“Hi, beautiful.” She murmured, letting Pansy’s hair filter through her grasp. 

Pansy’s breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted to respond but emitted only silence, and in seconds the nurses were rushing Hermione away down the hallway. Pansy remained on the floor, unable to stand, the ache in her chest blooming.


	9. Lilac

Silence, and the smell of lemons. Pansy sighed and squinted against the streaks of sunlight that filtered through the window high in the corner of the room. The room was both familiar and foreign to her at the same time. She had spent over a week in a similar space a decade ago, kept alive by the rush of Healers at St. Mungo’s and the hushed and quiet evening visits from Hermione. 

Pansy shifted against the rough fabric of the visitor’s chair, the itch of the wool felt even through the thick robes of her Auror uniform. While she had come to intensely dislike the disinfectant smell permeating the room, it covered the staleness of her own body, having spent over a day in the same robes that were edged with sweat and dirt. 

She watched Hermione’s still form tucked into the clean and crisp bedsheets nearby, the comforter pulled up to her chin. Escaped curls fanned over her pillow, framing her face that had softened into a slight frown. 

Hermione had woken up soon after being taken to St. Mungo’s, her injuries significant but not serious enough to warrant more than one Healer fussing over her and sending her to bed after a number of spells had been administered, potions given, pillows fluffed. Pansy waited on the other side of the room, joined first by Harry, who looked equally exhausted, and soon after by Ron. Ron checked in on Hermione’s sleeping form, watching Pansy with suspicion and guarded glances. He went so far as to question why Pansy was there at all, when Harry had finally stepped in and told him to lay off, explaining that Pansy was the reason Hermione hadn’t sustained worse injuries. Ron thanked her begrudgingly and left after Harry assured him that he would be called later when Hermione was ready for visitors. Pansy largely ignored him. Harry had apologized for his behaviour, noting he still cared greatly for Hermione, and Pansy rewarded him with a tight-lipped smile. 

Harry left eventually as well, leaving Pansy alone on the other side of the room. She waited, unable to leave, unsure what to do with herself, until a nurse told her to go in already. And so there she was, holding vigil. A few feet away from Hermione, wanting to get closer but not wanting to break their agreement to remain professional.

After an hour of maintaining this ruse in her own head, Pansy stood impatiently and moved to Hermione’s bedside. She drank in the sight. Soft lashes dusting against her cheek, thick brows feathering along her brow, a smattering of freckles falling across her nose and blending into her skin. While ten years had added a few lines to her eyes and had stolen the bold naiveite that Pansy had fallen for, the glimpses of the girl she had fallen in love with were still there. In the soft smile lines, the look of determination that stayed with her even in sleep, the gentle dark curls that twisted around her ears and curved under her chin. 

Pansy stopped herself from reaching out, gripping the metal frame of the bed instead. The silence—allowing her too much time to reflect—had made her bold. As she looked down on her, she thought of how both their lives had, in so many ways, mirrored each other’s. Brimming with secrets, caught in the realities of war, where Hermione had soldiered on head-first into the expectations set out for her, and Pansy had run. 

Hermione sighed deeply and murmured softly, the effects of the administered Sleep Draught wearing off. 

“Alright, Hermione?” Pansy breathed, unsure if she was awake. 

Hermione groaned in response, her hand emerging from the sheets to rub against her eyes. 

“I think so. Merlin, the light though.”  
Pansy moved to draw the lined curtains across the windows, allowing only muted light to enter the room.

“Thanks.” Hermione stifled her yawn and began shifting against the mattress, slowly shimmying herself up into a half-sitting position on the bed.

“Want to join?” She nodded at Pansy and patted the spot beside her, Pansy’s eyebrows lifting in response. She slowly lowered herself beside Hermione so they were sitting facing each other, conscious of her blood and dirt-stained robes against the clean sheets. 

“Thanks for staying with me, and for earlier.” Hermione offered, her voice still soft from sleep.

“Of course, it’s my job.” Pansy replied, catching how Hermione stiffened at her words.

“I don’t remember reading in your contract anything about being a bedside attendant.” Hermione hummed as she traced the outline of her own palm with her finger.

“Granger, are you honestly teasing me right now?” Pansy sounded incredulous, suddenly thrown off by Hermione’s playful jab. 

Hermione shrugged. “You always said humour was a decent defence.” 

Pansy scoffed and shook her head.

“How’re you feeling, at least? Better, from the sounds of it.”

“Yeah, better.” Hermione smiled tentatively. “I just didn’t think,” she paused as her smile slipped, “I didn’t think there would actually be an attack. It seemed so unlikely.”

“Agreed,” Pansy sighed, “an investigation is already underway into how the Wizengamot was infiltrated in the first place. Harry was by earlier, he told me they had successfully captured everyone present and they’ve already begun questioning.”

“Death Eaters, then.” Hermione exhaled softly.

“Death Eaters.” Pansy replied, tension gathering at her temple.

“Why does it feel like we’ve been here before?” Hermione laughed quietly, her voice devoid of humour. Pansy rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm, exhaustion seeping into her bones.

“I suppose we have been, in some way.” She conceded. Her comment set Pansy on edge, rimmed with a sense of familiarity that they hadn’t allowed themselves in the past days, one that Pansy hadn’t felt in years. Pansy regarded Hermione with a wary gaze, sensing a new ease about her.

“Pansy, can…can we have a frank conversation?” Hermione was watching her just as closely, searching her eyes. Pansy’s shoulders raised in defense.

“Depends,” she answered slowly, “about what exactly?”

“There’s something I wanted to say to you earlier, on Friday morning. It’s been weighing on me. I owe you an apology, and I’m sorry.” Hermione’s voice was clear and certain, and Pansy felt herself recoil in response. Her first urge was to protect herself, to get out.

“For what?” 

“If you’d let me finish,” Hermione huffed, her own eyes narrowing at Pansy before she regained her composure, “I want to apologize for how I treated you after the war. We were so young, and you didn’t deserve how I acted. Hiding our relationship, letting you fade into the shadows, what I said at that press conference—”

“That was a long time ago, you didn’t have a choice.” Pansy interjected, hating that they were having this conversation, knowing it was long overdue.

“No, don’t—” Hermione paused as her voice caught, “don’t make excuses for me. I never let you make a single excuse for yourself. It wasn’t fair.”

Tears of frustration threatened to spill over Hermione’s lids, but she blinked angrily and wiped them away with her palm. 

“You deserved support and love, Pansy. We both did. You were ready to give it, and I wasn’t. And I see that now. We were grieving then, and I threw it in your face. When I found your letter, I hated you for it, I hated you so much. For leaving, for not waiting for me, for not letting me explain. I held onto that hate for so long. I couldn’t miss you if I hated you, couldn’t mourn you. And it worked, for a while.” 

Pansy felt cracks form in her resolve. There she was, finally, her Hermione. Sitting in front of her in a thin hospital gown, a thin scar ghosting silver along her neck, traces of dirt from the day before still streaked across her face, opening her heart in a way Pansy had longed for all those years ago. 

“I hated you too.” Pansy breathed. She felt unstable, unsure where to tread. 

“And now?”

“It didn’t last long.” 

“Can I…?” Hermione reached out, closing her hand around Pansy’s after she nodded. Tears gently slid down her cheeks as she gripped Pansy’s hand tightly.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry.” Hermione began, as Pansy reached and pulled Hermione towards her. She cupped her hand around the back of her head, holding her soft curls close. The familiarity of the action sent waves of pain and longing through Pansy’s chest. 

“It’s alright, darling, it’s alright.” She murmured, her lips pressed and moving against Hermione’s forehead. “We both made mistakes, it’s behind us.”

“Is it though?” Hermione whispered.

“I’d like it to be. I’m tired. Tired of holding onto the pain. I used it to protect myself, but I think I’m ready to let go.” Pansy mused, releasing her hold as Hermione gently removed herself from Pansy’s arms and faced her.

“I thought I already had. Let go, that is.” Hermione sighed. “But when I saw you, I felt like a weight had been lifted. I think I was waiting for you. I didn’t realize it, but when you first walked in, I knew. I knew I had been waiting. And Merlin, I hate admitting it—”

Pansy quickly moved off the bed and was on her feet in seconds. 

“What’re you doing, Hermione?” She breathed, panic coursing through her. Suddenly, it all felt like too much. Pansy realized they had moved from talks of forgiveness into something else very quickly, and it terrified her. She stood a distance from Hermione’s bed, backed up against the lone chair she had sat in earlier. 

“Merlin, Pansy, will you just—no, just stop it. Will you come here, please?” Hermione looked at her in exasperation, startled from her vulnerable admission. 

“If you—” Pansy shook her head, “if you ask something of me, if you want something from me, and then push me away again, where does that leave me? I can’t.”

“Just let me finish!” Hermione cried, frustration twisting her features.

Pansy drew in a deep breath, filling the silence that dropped heavily between them.

“Alright.” She hissed.

“Will you come sit me with?” Hermione sighed in annoyance and waved her over. Pansy shrugged off her Auror’s jacket and dropped it onto the back of the chair, this time pulling off her boots as well before finally sitting back down beside Hermione. 

“Pansy,” Hermione laughed, clearly flustered, “I’m trying, very hard, to tell you I’m sorry. I’ve been an arse, more than once. And I don’t care if you hate me for saying this, but I didn’t get to ten years ago. And I should have told Harry and Ron, and I should have told the Daily Prophet, I should have told bloody everyone how much I loved you. How much I adored you, how much you meant to me. You were my lifeline. And I missed you desperately when you left. And I waited. And I love you still, you beautiful, stubborn, insufferable woman.” Tears streamed freely now as she faced Pansy and refused to break her gaze.

“I loved you too. You were my light.” Pansy choked, tears catching in her throat. “You still are.”

“Can I hold you already?” Hermione laughed through her tears as Pansy moved towards her, pulling them both down so they faced each other, heads on Hermione’s pillow, arms entwined. 

They held each other quietly as their breathing calmed and their pulses ebbed.

“Please don’t leave.” Hermione murmured, breaking the silence.

“I won’t.” Pansy shook her head, breathing in the smell of Hermione’s hair. 

“I want us, again.” Hermione held her breath before pushing on. “I want all of us. No hiding, no secrets, no running. I want you fully.” 

Pansy pressed her lips to Hermione’s temple.

“I want that too.”

Hermione’s hand traced the line of Pansy’s jaw, pulling her face closer. 

“Merlin,” Hermione laughed nervously, “my heart feels like it’s about to burst apart.”

Pansy smiled in response, kissing the edge of Hermione’s mouth. “How does it feel here?” She murmured, moving her mouth to the line of Hermione’s jaw, the tip of her nose, the arch of her brow. 

“And here?” Her lips pressed against the hollow of her throat. 

“Here?” The flat of her collarbone, the curve of her breast, “and here?”, the inside of her wrist, the round of her shoulder. 

Hermione’s skin dimpled in response, waves of pleasure flowing across her skin. She closed her mouth over Pansy’s, silencing her. They moved against each other, tongues tentatively sliding together, teeth gently pulling against lower lips.

“I love you.” Hermione breathed, as Pansy kissed the edge of her mouth. 

“I love you too.” Pansy grinned, drawing Hermione back in. 

The nurse found them like that, hours later, limbs gently entangled. Their foreheads pressed together, chests rising and falling deeply in sleep. She closed the door quietly behind her, a smile catching on her lips.


End file.
